


In Memory

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman waits for news and remembers. She is soon joined by two others with memories of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Author's disclaimer: I threw my medication out, so once again--THEY'RE MINE. But they give me nothing but joy--no moola. See end notes for spoilery warnings if you need them.
> 
> Originally published June 23, 2000.

**In Memory by Alyjude**

 

Unmoving, Naomi Sandburg sat in the same chair she'd occupied since her arrival some seven hours previously.  
  
She was comfortable in the overstuffed chair; as comfortable as she could be under the circumstances.  The room where Naomi sat was small but luxurious; with large bay windows that overlooked the Canadian Rockies.  The view was spectacular, but no one was looking.  
  
Naomi lifted her head and scanned the room, almost as if ensuring that nothing had changed since the last time she'd looked.  No, there were still seven others occupying space as they waited.  Her head dropped back down as she drifted into the past.  
  
As Naomi left the present, staff members wandered through the room, passing out coffee, tea, blankets; offering counseling and gentle words of comfort.  
  
Naomi heard none of it.  
  
*****  
  
Early September, 1968--Free clinic, Berkeley, California  
  
The waiting room was crowded and Naomi had to stand against the wall.  Her natural curiosity took precedence over why she was in the doctor's office so she let her eyes take in the wealth of people around her.  As she took in each woman, her fertile imagination supplied the history.  
  
The blonde with the two toddlers was definitely into her tenth month or second century of pregnancy, of that, Naomi was certain.  Can you say Cesarean section?  
  
The tiny brunette seated with the beaming soldier was perhaps four or five months and definitely a first pregnancy, first marriage and a virgin prior to the wedding night to boot.  
  
The rather hefty, middle-aged woman across from Naomi looked to be seven or eight months along.   Judging from her tired expression and lackluster appearance, she had at least four children at home and a husband she never saw because he was working at least two jobs to feed his ever-growing family.  This doctor's visit was probably her only peace.  
  
Naomi's eyes continued around the room and stopped at the raven-haired beauty seated next to the door.  This girl looked a bit older than Naomi, her stomach just as flat.  The two _skinny_ girls smiled smugly at each other.  They would _never_ look like any of _these_ women.  
  
Of course, Naomi didn't know yet, that was why she was here--to get the results.  She popped her gum and placed her hand over her tummy.  No one would believe her if she were tell them that she _did_ feel an energy when she touched herself.  As if she could feel the embryo growing.  She _knew_ she was carrying.  Her only real question was whether to keep it.  
  
Can an _it_ give off such energy?  
  
"Naomi Sandburg?"  
  
She stepped away from the wall and followed the nurse through the door....  
  
*****  
  
"Well, Naomi, you're pregnant."  
  
 _How funny,_ she thought.  She'd known the answer but hearing it spoken out loud kind of threw her for a loop.  Suddenly she realized that Dr. Petrie was talking again...  
  
"...that we discussed last week."  
  
She lifted her head and caught his steady gaze.  "Um, yeah."  
  
"I know we discussed the possibility of an abortion, Naomi, but I want you to understand that you have some time.  A week, a bit more.  You seemed pretty adamant last week that yes, you did want one, and I'm ready.  But, again, you have time."  
  
She heard his words, knew what they meant and it brought her back to the question of the energy surrounding her stomach and was it really possible that her ba... that an _embryo_ was responsible?  
  
She turned her head away from Dr. Petrie's questioning brown eyes to stare at the door.  She was startled to see a young boy standing there, unwavering blue eyes regarding her with such solemnity.  He looked to be about ten years old, with blonde hair and he was wearing a football uniform.  She smiled at him and he smiled shyly back and said, "Yes."  
  
Puzzled, she cocked her head.  "What?" But the boy just nodded and smiled, then pointed to her tummy and repeated, "Yes."  
  
"I said, you have time, Naomi," the doctor reiterated, thinking she'd been talking to him.  
  
"Oh, not you, Dr. Petrie, him," and she pointed to the boy--who was no longer there.  
  
Naturally he followed her finger and saw nothing.  "Who?"  
  
"There was a boy standing there.  He's gone now, but he seemed to be trying to tell me something, but it doesn't matter."  She turned to face the kind doctor once again.  "I've decided to take you up on your offer to wait."  
  
He smiled and said, "I'm glad.  You know I'll support whatever decision you make, Naomi."  
  
*****  
  
On her way home to the commune, she stopped at Hyde Park to gather her thoughts and try to figure out what to do with her life and the baby she was carrying.  She chose a spot near the pond but under a large spreading oak tree.  Sitting down cross-legged, elbows on her knees, face resting in the palms of her hands, she watched several children play at the edge of the lake.  
  
The kids were offering food to the ducks and swans, trying to entice them closer so they could sneak a quick petting.  Their giggles floated over the young girl and she smiled at the innocent sound.  
  
She was only sixteen, but would be seventeen, barely, by the time the baby came--if she had the baby.  She was a child herself, even if she was on her own.  And of course, she didn't have a clue who the father could be.  It could be Tommy, or Chuck, or even Evan.  But, she thought helplessly, it could also be Brian or Gault.  
  
Free love wasn't so free after all.  
  
But did it really matter _who_ the father was?  He wouldn't be around anyway.  None of them would care enough to be a part of this baby's life; hell, they were kids themselves, Gault being the oldest at nineteen.  They were _real_ hippies, nomads, on the move, following their own paths, users, sweet but--children.  If she had this child--she would be alone.  
  
She continued to watch the children play and noticed that one stood out from the rest.  He was small boy, curly-haired, with bright sparkling blue eyes.  He stood apart from the others, but was avidly watching.  She wondered why he didn't join in.  
  
Naomi glanced around, hoping to find who he belonged to... but no one seemed interested.  
  
She stood and waved to him.  He saw her and smiled the most beautiful and gentle smile she'd ever seen as he trotted over to her without question.  
  
"Hi, I'm Naomi."  She held out her hand and his slipped into it easily, even as he blushed.  He said nothing as they shook, so she asked, "What's your name?"  
  
He gave a cute little grown up shrug, exaggerating it with a big grin.  
  
"You don't know your name?"  
  
He shrugged again and gave her hand a tug.  
  
She dropped down beside him as he plopped onto the grass.  He pointed at the pond and giggled.  She followed his gaze and noticed a mother swan swooshing her goslings, trying to gather them up and under her massive wing.  Together they watched and laughed because every time the swan thought she had them all under wing, one or two would swim back out and she'd have to start all over again.  
  
Naomi found herself laughing delightedly, the small boy hiding his mouth behind one hand as his own laughter erupted.  Suddenly, a distant voice cried out, "BLAIR!" and the boy was up and running.  
  
Naomi stood; frowning as the small sprite disappeared.  Well, at least she knew his name now.  _Blair_.  And she liked it.  She started to walk home, happy and whistling because of course, she'd made up her mind.  
  
Lovingly, she stroked her tummy.  
  
*****  
  
The Present --  
  
Naomi shook herself and shook the memories that flooded her mind.  
  
"Mrs. Sandburg, would you like anything to drink or eat?"  
  
"No, but thank you.  Any word yet?"  She knew the answer, but had to ask anyway.  
  
"No, I'm afraid not.  The weather hasn't changed.  I'm sorry."  
  
She nodded and the young woman moved on to another one.  
  
Naomi had been sitting for hours and her legs were cramped.  She stood and walked stiffly to the large picture window to gaze out across the serene forest.  Here, it was clear.  No fog, no rain, just bright blue skies.  Bright blue--like his eyes.  
  
Blair.  Her son.  Out there somewhere.  And she had to believe that he was still alive.  She had to.  But everything told her he wasn't.  She knew the odds and judging from the posture of everyone in this room, so did they.  A small aircraft, crashing into the Canadian Rockies.  Survivors highly unlikely.  That was a fact supported by statistics.  Tons of statistics.  
  
She placed her hand over the glass and leaned in.  
  
Her son.  Her child.  Born thirty years ago to another child.  
  
*****  
  
"Push, Naomi, push.  Just once more, just one more push, you can do it."  
  
He'd been saying that for what seemed an eternity.  Just one more push.  It was always one more.  How many _one mores_ could there fucking be?  Her mind screamed that he was an asshole, but she pushed.  
  
"He's crowning, Naomi, I see his head.  He's almost here, finish the push, girl.  I know you're tired, but this little guy is anxious."  
  
She gave it her best grunt, bearing down one last time and was rewarded with, "I've got him, that's it, Naomi."  She dropped back, exhausted; her face covered in sweat.  
  
"Don't you want to see him?"  
  
She opened tired eyes to see Dr. Petrie holding up a red, wiggling mass of flesh, small fists waving uselessly and just as she opened her mouth to say something, the wiggling mass opened his mouth and bawled loudly.  
  
"Great set of lungs on this little fella.  You've got a winner here, Naomi.  And look, look at all the hair."  
  
The baby was cleaned, wrapped in a warm blanket and nestled into her waiting arms.  It felt--awkward.  
  
She gazed down to see a scrunched up face, no longer red, but kind of puffy.  With wonder, her finger traced over the top of his head, feeling the downy softness of the dark swirling hair.  So much, she thought.  Was this normal?  
  
And it felt so good now.  And he smelled so... sweet.  
  
"He's so tiny," she whispered in awe.  
  
"He is.  He's underweight, but we discussed that.  We had some close calls with this little one, but he's stubborn.  Just plain refused to give up."  
  
It _had_ been a rough pregnancy, with Naomi nearly losing him several times.  In her last month, she'd been confined to bed in order to ensure that she would be able to bring him to term.  She hadn't, at any time after making her decision, allowed herself to even consider losing him.  Not after deciding to keep him.  No karmic justice for her, no sir.  This baby was hers and he _would_ be born.  
  
"He is going to be all right, isn't he?"  
  
"He's going to be fine.  He's beautiful, Naomi.  Truly beautiful."  
  
Yes, yes, he was.  Now that his face wasn't all scrunched up.  His skin was smooth and satiny soft, his small fingers squeezing, his lips puckering, and then... he opened his eyes.  
  
"Oh, god."  
  
"Now, Naomi.  All Caucasian babies have blue eyes when they're born.  This may be his natural color, but then again, they may turn."  
  
"Like puppies."  
  
He chuckled and said, "Well, that's as good an analogy as any other. Have you come up with a name yet?"  
  
She hadn't.  But everyone else at the commune had.  But in spite of her youth, in spite of being a hippie, she had no intention of saddling her child with a name like Freezone, or Earth, or Moonbaby.  But she still hadn't come up with one on her own.  As she studied his face, at those blue eyes staring so intently up at her, she recalled a voice at the pond....  
  
"Blair.  His name is Blair.  Blair Sandburg."  
  
"I like it, Naomi.  Blair Sandburg it is."  
  
*****  
  
The Present --  
  
She put her hand to her mouth; trying to stifle her moan of pain.  He can't be gone.  
  
As she fought the tears, the agony, she remembered taking Blair to the park in Berkeley on their way to Sacramento.  He'd been... four?  
  
He'd seen the park from the front seat of the Carmen Ghia and had started bouncing immediately.  He _had_ to say good-bye to the ducks and swans, he just _had_ to.  She'd pulled over and lifted the wiggling wart into her arms, wary of letting him down since he tended to run immediately.  They'd walked down to the edge of the lake and he'd quieted, eyes wide with childlike wonder as he'd watched the ducks, swans and geese.  
  
Naomi wondered why she was remembering this now.  Why would a park and a lake take precedence in her mind while she waited to see if her child was dead or alive?  
  
Because she'd almost lost him that day--that was why.  He'd gotten away from her.  
  
Like a million mothers before her and a million mothers after, she'd let her attention stray and with the snap of a finger, he was gone.  
  
She'd called endlessly.  Searched fruitlessly.  Her fear growing every minute he _didn't_ respond.  Every nightmare she'd ever had came to her that day.  Kidnapped, molested, strangers looking for just such an innocent child....  
  
She'd stopped, calmed herself and breathing deep, she called out one last time...  
  
"BLAIR!"  
  
And suddenly--he'd been there.  Running happily toward her, his curls bobbing, little legs chugging.  He'd launched himself at her, his arms and legs wrapping themselves around her as he cried out breathlessly, "Did you see, mommy?  The swan?  She lost her babies, kept trying to get them and they kept swimming away, it was so funny, mommy."  
  
Naomi gasped at the memory.  
  
Swans.  
  
A distant voice yelling, "Blair", a park and a pond.  
  
What had happened?  In her mind, she compared her Blair to that little boy she'd met on her way home from the doctor's... but of course, no comparison was necessary.  
  
They were the same little boy.  
  
"Blair."  She rested her head against the cool pane.  
  
*****  
  
The driver of the car pulled into the parking lot and found a space; which wasn't easy.  After the engine was shut down, two men climbed out.  They stretched, arching their backs, then reached back and pulled out one garment bag each.  Swinging the bags over their shoulders, they started toward the front door of the small building.  
  
Getting to the front wasn't any easier than finding a parking place.  The entire property was swamped from people from the media.  Reporters, cameramen and video crews with every major network, newspaper and magazine were amply represented.  But the news-hungry group ignored the two men; instinctively knowing that they were unimportant in the grand scheme of the day's major news story.  
  
Once inside, both men breathed a sigh of relief.  One man said, "I'll go find out what I can, Jim.  See if I can find Naomi."  
  
The other man just nodded.  
  
Simon wandered off, in search of help, leaving Jim Ellison standing in place, not moving.  
  
*****  
  
Captain Simon Banks walked into the main portion of the small, exclusive charter airport and up to an attractive woman behind the faux marble counter.  
  
"I'm very sorry sir, there are no flights today."  
  
"Yes, I know.  That's not why I'm here.  The airplane crash?  One of my... detectives was on that plane.  I'm Captain Simon Banks, Cascade Washington, Major Crime Unit."  He flashed his identification.  
  
She was clearly flustered, but recovered nicely.  "I'm sorry, Captain Banks, we weren't informed.  Please, right this way.  We have the friends and relatives sequestered in our VIP lounge."  
  
"There are two of us.  Just give me directions and we'll find it."  
  
"I can't do that, sir.  We have to escort you.  Please understand, the plane was chartered by Sweetwater Films and the other passengers were," she paused, realizing her incredible error and quickly changed her wording, "Are, the other passengers _are_ quite famous.  The media has been trying to get to them all day."  
  
"I understand.  Let me go get him then."  
  
Simon went back the way he'd come, got Jim and together they walked to the counter.  
  
Seeing them, the woman came around the corner and indicated that they should follow her.  
  
"You must be here for Mr. Sandburg?  He was the only one on the flight that was not attached to the film crew."  
  
"Yes, Detective Sandburg."  
  
They arrived at a door marked VIP and she quickly slid a card into the lock and pushed it open.  
  
The two men found themselves inside a lovely, comfortable room, bordered on one side by a set of picture windows.  There were approximately ten others in the room, including Naomi.  
  
"We're keeping the press away; we have everything for your comfort and rooms are available at the Twahnee Lodge.  We'll be shuttling anyone over as needed."  She gazed around the room and added, "But so far, everyone has preferred to stay here.  If you need anything, let me or one of the attendants know."  
  
"Thank you, Miss...?"  
  
"Watkins.  Mrs. Watkins."  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Watkins."  
  
She nodded and left.  
  
Simon turned to Jim and smiled.  "Well, I don't think any of the press will be bothering us, do you?"  
  
"Doubtful, Simon."  Jim said the words, but his eyes were on the woman standing by the huge window.  He prayed no one remembered who Blair Sandburg was now.  That was one thing none of them needed at this moment.  
  
He walked over to Blair's mother and placed one hand on her shoulder.  "Naomi?" She turned slowly and with a small whimper, went into his arms.  
  
Simon watched, his heart in his throat.  
  
Now that they were here, it was real, in spite of his prayers that it be just a bad dream.   He tore his eyes from the sight of Jim comforting Naomi and gazed about him.  He recognized the famous actress seated across from him, hunched over, another man comforting her.  And he recognized the man sitting by himself in the far corner as the famous director of some of the all time greatest action flicks in film history.  Simon had to assume that the others were relatives, friends and personnel of the production company.  
  
As he understood it, the second unit director was on the flight as well as the male star  of the film and two supporting actors.  The passengers also included the star's manager, the cinematographer, two other crew members and--Blair Sandburg.  
  
Simon moved to Jim's side and cleared his throat.  Naomi lifted her head and gave him  a wan smile.  
  
"Simon, you came."  
  
He nodded, unable to find the words.  
  
"Why don't we sit down and you can tell us everything you know?" Jim suggested gently.  She agreed and they moved to the chair she'd occupied earlier.  Jim and Simon took seats on the couch next to her.  
  
"I'm not sure where to begin.  I got a call from Blair--it made no sense, Jim.  He said something about starting a new job in Tacoma in a couple of weeks and if maybe there'd  be a chance for us to connect beforehand.  Why Tacoma, Jim?  What's going on?"  
  
"He didn't tell you anything else?"  
  
"He wouldn't.  Just that he'd like to see me.  I told him I was on my way here, to the retreat and suggested he join me.  He said... yes."  Her voice broke then as she once again realized that that was why they were all here.  Because Blair had been on his way to meet her.  If only she'd gone to him....  
  
"This isn't your fault, Naomi.  If anyone is to blame, I am."  
  
Before anyone could delve into that statement, Simon asked, "How did he end up on this flight?"  
  
"He booked a regular flight for Handid, but when he arrived at the airport in Seattle, they told him Skyline had cancelled all their flights.  They arranged for him, as the only individual who couldn't be accommodated any other way, to hitch a ride with Sweetwater through AirMobile Charters.  I was here, waiting for the flight when a young woman came up and asked me to join her in here."  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and went on.  
  
"That's when I was told that the AirMobile plane had gone down between here and Seattle.  They were in communication with the pilot just moments before it went down.  You already know about the weather problems.  They haven't been able to get search planes into the air because of fog on the US side and storms on this side."  
  
Both men nodded.  The disappearance of AirMobile Charter flight #16 had made major headlines because of who was on the flight.  The entire world was watching and waiting for the first news.  
  
Jim had been sitting in his living room, lights off, television running for no reason, when they'd first announced the story.  He hadn't given it a thought, concentrating instead on what he'd done; how he'd driven Blair from his life.  Then later, the call from Naomi....  
  
*****  
  
 _"Jim?  It's Naomi.  Please, you have to come.  His plane, it's gone down."  
_  
"Naomi, what are you talking about?"  
  
 _"Blair's plane.  He was on that Sweetwater charter plane.  Jim, please, come."_  
  
Ellison's hand shook as Naomi's words penetrated.  His heart started thundering within his chest, blood throbbing in his head, explosion imminent.  Blair's plane down.  Blair on a plane that had gone down.  
  
"Naomi, where are you?"  
  
 _"At the airport.  It's the Handid Special Services Airport, just north of Twahnee.  Please?"_  
  
"I'm on my way."  
  
 _"Jim, there are no current flights into Handid, you'll have to drive."_  
  
"No problem.  I'll be there as soon as humanly possible."  
  
After hanging up with Naomi, he'd called Simon and given him the news.  He wasn't surprised when Simon offered to drive up with him, not after all that had happened....  
  
*****  
  
A few days earlier --  
  
Jim Ellison sat down at his desk and turned on his computer, not knowing if this was a godsend or not.  The whole department had been without their computers for three days following the ' _love'_ virus, but supposedly, everything was a go.  
  
He booted up and as he waited, he glanced over to the space that had once been reserved for his... partner, Blair Sandburg.  The tightness in his chest, the one present for the last several weeks, squeezed hard, leaving him almost breathless.  
  
Blair had been gone for weeks.  Gone.  
  
His fault.  
  
Jim missed the voice, the laugh, the stories, Blair's very presence, energy and life force.  
  
Why hadn't he known how much he'd miss him?  How could he have not known?  That was a far better question.  The man had been in his life for three years, entrenched in every aspect of it, so much a part of Jim Ellison, it seemed that he hadn't known where he ended and Blair began.  
  
As he stared at the empty space that had once been occupied by Sandburg, his computer pinged, letting him know he had mail.  He clicked on the mailbox, noting that after three days offline, he still only had one piece of mail.  He clicked again and frowned, unfamiliar with the email address: lupine@yahoo.com  
  
He clicked on the envelope and the letter appeared.  He noted that the email had been sent the same day the system had crashed, and then his breath caught as he read the words:  
  
 _Hello, asshole.  How the hell are you?  Long time no see, but that's a good thing, right?  I'd say 'Wish you were here' but that would be a lie and I like my nose the exact length that it is.  
  
Hey, it's been too long since we last saw each other--oops, there I go again lying.  Oh, wait, I haven't lied yet, have I?  Oh, well, first time for everything, which is kind of what I said when we fucked like bunnies and then you left my bed and spent the next three weeks pretending I didn't exist.  Gee, do I sound pissed?  Sorry.  
  
Give me a second here, just have to get something off my chest...YOU ARE A JERK, an asshole, a dickwad, a dipstick, a pervert and apparently I didn't leave Cascade early enough because I hate us both.  I sincerely hope that you are miserable, you miserable sack of shit, and I hope you're pining away for my body, my lips, my dick and my ass, but alas, I suspect you couldn't care less.  
  
Okay, feel better now.  
  
Bet you're wondering why I'm writing you.  Because I need help.  Big time.  And years of indentured service to the Sentinel of the Great City should have given me some rights.  You may not care or believe, but dammit, you couldn't have done it without me and I've never asked for anything until now.  Gosh, I guess I'm not asking for help in the best possible way, am I?  Insulting you and all.  But hell, you're used to that.  
  
So on with the request.  I'm trying to get on with the Riverside Police Department here in Riverside Idaho, but well, they're a little bit hesitant, to take me on.  Gee, I wonder why?  
  
I've tried everywhere, from Washington to California, had it almost made with the Tacoma PD, but unfortunately, my reputation caught up with me and, at the last minute, no go.  I've been to Idaho before so I caught a plane, interviewed with Captain Wilson and basically he requested a letter from you and Simon.  
  
Yeah, this is hard, asking you for anything.  But I have to work and I'm a cop now.  I have no real pride left--I need to work.  I'm heading back to Tacoma, then on to visit Naomi for a bit and to break the news that I'm not going to work in Tacoma after all.  Right now, I'm at the Montgomery Motel and the fax number is: (632) 545-1157.  Today is Wednesday, I leave for Tacoma on Friday and to visit Naomi on Saturday.  If I could get the letter to Captain Wilson before I leave, well, I might have that job by the time my visit with Mom is over.  You can also fax the letters to the Captain directly at: (632) 545-8867.  
  
I don't know if you'll do this, maybe you'll just delete.  Hell, who am I kidding?  You'll do it, it's who you are.  Fuck, I did it again, didn't I?  Tried to tell the great James Ellison who he is.  My most humble apologies.  
  
Well, I'm signing off now, gotta go.  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Blair Sandburg, aka; Chief, Sandy, Hairboy, Darwin, Tonto, misfit, nuisance and one lousy fuck._  
  
Jim sat back and let his breathing calm as he wiped the sweat from his upper lip.  He scanned the area around him, relieved that no one was paying any attention.  
  
Dear god.  Blair had never received any reply let alone a reference letter and it was now Friday.  Jesus.  He let his eyes come back to the letter, read it again, sighed and slowly rose.  He started toward Simon's office.  
  
Jim knocked and at Simon's barked order to enter, he pushed open the door and faced his Captain.  
  
"Simon, I need a letter of recommendation.  ASAP.  And I need it forwarded to the Riverside Police Department, care of Captain Wilson.  Today.  Now."  
  
Simon Banks looked up from his paperwork and immediately bit back a sharp reply.  Jim's misery was evident.  "You aren't joking."  
  
"No, sir.  But it's not for me.  It's for Blair.  He's trying to get on with the Riverside Police."  
  
Simon's eyes narrowed at the mention of Blair Sandburg's name and he pushed himself up and out of his chair to say, "This is a joke."  
  
"Simon, he's tried everywhere, he can't get a job."  
  
"Shit, how do you know this?  The last time I checked, you two weren't exactly on speaking terms."  
  
"E-mail.  Just received.  He needs our help, Simon."  
  
"I see.  So the great and wonderful Sandburg can just up and desert you, leave one day before he's to become your partner, disappear from the face of the earth, but the moment he yells for help, you do back flips for him?  Do I have any of this right?"  
  
"No, sir, you don't.  I drove him away.  I made it impossible for him to stay."  
  
"And just how did you do that?  You supported him, convinced me to let him try the academy, how exactly did you make it impossible for him to stay?"  
  
Jim sat down, the weight of the world on his shoulders.  He'd spent a lifetime running, pushing those who mattered away, refusing to accept their love, seeking out instead, those whom he could never have.  And now...  
  
He swiped a hand over his eyes, letting his fingers dig in, rubbing, trying to rub away the truth.  He told Simon instead.  
  
*****  
  
A few months previous --  
  
"This looks pretty bad, Chief.  I remember the academy as being a bit rough, but not so rough I came home with bruises like this."  
  
"You came from the military, not academia.  Slight difference, wouldn't you think?" Blair shifted uncomfortably as Jim applied some aloe to various other bruises that he couldn't reach.   "I'm not exactly Mr. Athletic, you know."  
  
Jim smiled and said, "Oh, I don't know, you can sure run fast when you need to, Chief."  
  
"Hell, I can run like a house afire when needed, but self-defense is a bit more complicated."  
  
"So, maybe I could help?  We could do a bit of training off hours?"  
  
"Thanks Jim, I appreciate that, but I want to do this on my own, you know?"  
  
Jim put the cap back on the gel, wiped his hands and as Blair buttoned his shirt, he said, "You think others aren't getting help of some kind?  There's no shame in seeking outside assistance.  No more so than going to the library for extra research, right?"  
  
Blair checked his partner, gauging his sincerity and finding only the desire to help in those pale blue eyes.  
  
"Okay, Jim.  Maybe you're right."  
  
"Great.  We'll head over to Smiley's Gym right after work, starting tomorrow."  
  
"All right.  And Jim?  Thanks."  
  
*****  
  
They spent the next few evenings at the gym.  Blair discovered that learning how to protect himself without a horde of cadets watching and laughing at his every move was far more productive.  
  
The first few lessons confused Jim.  He knew that Blair was athletic.  He was sturdy, strong and agile; his size often a plus in self-protection.  But the Blair he was working with nightly was clumsy; wearing baggy sweats and a too-large sweatshirt that hampered his every move.  There was no way his normal agility could assert itself. Finally, after another clumsy attempt at stopping a rampaging Ellison and falling flat on his ass, Jim had had enough.  
  
"Okay, Sandburg, what's going on here?  I know you, remember?  I live with you.  You are most definitely _not_ clumsy and what's with the baggy sweats?  I mean, I know you favor the layered look, but not while working out!"  
  
Blair stood, bent over, hands on knees, breathing hard.  He glanced up, giving Jim a weird look.  He straightened, retied his hair and said, still slightly out of breath, "Jim, do you have any idea how tall most of the cadets in my class are?"  
  
Jim shrugged, clueless.  
  
"About six feet, Jim.  Six feet.  That's a good head taller than yours truly. And most are built like football linebackers.  By comparison I look like a--"

 

"Blair, you may be shorter that the average cadet, but trust me, you're built just fine.  Very fine, in fact.  You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.  You're quick, agile and strong."  
  
Jim stopped at the expression on Blair's face.  Oops.  
  
"So.  You think I'm built... fine?"  
  
Jim nodded helplessly, checking the ground, hoping for that hole to make a miraculous appearance and swallow him whole.  Bad choice of words.  
  
"I see."  Blair stepped closer, peering up at Jim, trying to see his expression.  He moved closer and whispered, "Jim?"  
  
Ellison gazed around them and said hoarsely, "Let's talk about this at home."  
  
*****  
  
Blair followed Jim upstairs, his heart beating a mile a minute.  He tried taking deep breaths, knowing that Jim could tell he was nervous.  But this was too important, too big a change in their relationship and dammit, he _was_ nervous.  Nervous as hell.  
  
Jim got the door open and stepped aside, allowing Blair to precede him, more from the need to prolong than in any kind of deference.  
  
As the door closed, Blair said, "Jim?"  
  
"What do you want me to say, Sandburg?"  
  
"God, you're hopeless."  Blair walked over Jim, pulled on his shirt, to bring his face down a bit.   Then he kissed him.  Blair had never kissed a man before; this was a major first.  It was also major _good_.  
  
Jim let Blair take the lead for a few seconds, but then he pulled back just enough to talk.  "Chief, are you sure?"  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
Jim dropped his mouth back down onto Blair's, sucking in the thick lower lip, his tongue running along its sweetness, hands moving up to grasp Blair's head, to hold it steady....  
  
The next few minutes were quiet, with only the sounds of ragged breathing filling the loft.  Somehow they'd both managed to make their way into Blair's room, to land on the messy bed and before Blair knew it, both he and Jim were skin to skin.  Jim's body was above him, his eyes a deep midnight blue, and this amazed Blair, that Jim should look like this because of them, because of this.  His own body shook with need; hot, wanting, his skin on fire everywhere Jim happened to touch....  
  
For Jim, it was a fantasy come to life, to heck with tomorrow.  Blair Sandburg was under him, his body covered in sweat, needing him, wanting him, _only_ him, responding to his touch, his kisses, but Jim wanted it all, needed to hear Blair scream his name and he set about to make that happen.  
  
*****  
  
Blair buried himself deeper under the covers, instinctively seeking that warm body, the body that should be next to him.  His hand came up empty.  Fuzzy blue eyes opened and found half his bed empty.  No Jim.  
  
He rolled over, listened, heard nothing, checked his bedside clock-just past six a.m.  Confused,  he got up and padded out into the living room.  The front door was still bolted from the inside; Jim's keys still in the basket.  So.  Jim was here.  Blair walked to the bathroom but, as soon as he saw the open door, he turned back around.  Which left only one place Jim could be--his own bedroom.  
  
Blair remained where he was, uncertain of his next move.  Sometime in the middle of the night, Jim had left Blair's bed to go to his own.  A coldness settled over him and the cold had nothing to do with the weather.  He moved silently toward the stairs, stopped at the foot, gazed up.  Should he?  One foot landed on the bottom step and he froze.  
  
Jim had left him.  He hadn't awakened him, hadn't suggested they both go upstairs, no, he'd just--left.  Blair took three more steps up, pausing again, suddenly frightened.  His heart was beating hard enough to blow through his chest like some escaping alien being and he wondered how in the world Jim _couldn't_ hear it.  He stopped and broke out in a cold sweat.  Because, of course, Jim wouldn't be sleeping through this.  And he wasn't saying anything.  
  
Blair Sandburg turned around, walked back down and into his own room, shutting the french doors behind him.  
  
*****  
  
Blair sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of him.  He'd gotten up thirty minutes earlier, showered, shaved, dressed and found himself alone in the loft. As he took a sip, the front door opened and Jim walked in, arms full of groceries.  
  
"Hey, Chief, you're finally up.  You forgot it was your turn to do the shopping.  We didn't even have bread for toast."  
  
"Sorry, how much do I owe you?"  
  
"Don't worry about it.  You hungry?"  
  
"Not really, the tea is enough."  
  
"Well, I'm starving.  Eggs, bacon, potatoes, the whole breakfast thing.  It's just as easy to cook for two, Chief."  
  
"No, really, not hungry."  
  
"Okay, but don't say I didn't offer."  
  
Blair watched in amazement as Jim set about frying bacon, scrambling eggs and frying hash browns.  
  
"Uh, Jim, I..."  
  
"Oh, by the way, don't forget that I promised to meet Dad at the country club this afternoon.  Probably won't be having dinner here."  
  
Blair blinked.  
  
Jim scooped eggs onto his plate, took several pieces of bacon, spooned up crispy potatoes and plopped them down next to the eggs, picked up his glass of juice and sat down opposite Blair.  As he ate, he unfolded the newspaper and began to peruse the sports section.  
  
Well, thought Blair, aren't we just Saturday cozy?  And obviously fucking him had given Jim a huge appetite.  Thank god he was good for something.  
  
Jim finished the last of the eggs, wiped his mouth, picked up the plate, gulped down the last of his juice and took the whole thing into the kitchen.  He spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning up.  
  
Blair stayed where he was, watching in amazement.  This was giving the phrase, _the morning after_ a whole new meaning.  When it looked like Jim was done, Blair said, "Jim, could we..."  
  
"Damn," Jim exclaimed, looking at his watch, "I've got tons of shit to do before meeting Dad.  Look, could you do me a favor?  I promised Mrs. Roberts that I would fix her sink since Costello is down with that bad back.  Could you take care of that today?  I'll never get anything done if I spend time with her--you know how she talks."  
  
Blair blinked again.  
  
"Jim, are we going to talk about last night?"  
  
"What is there to talk about?  We fucked.  It was a mistake.  Forget about Mrs.  Roberts, I'll do it now."  
  
Blair watched Jim pick up his keys and walk out.  
  
Unaware that he'd been holding his breath, he let it out as the door shut with a resounding, _so there_.  
  
A mistake.  That's what Jim had said.  That Blair was a mistake.  
  
Okay, nothing new there.  Heard it before.  Too many times to count.  Hell, he'd even heard it from some of his mother's friends, that keeping him had been a mistake.  Of course, she'd never known that he'd heard them, but he had.  He'd been so small and he could sit with adults for hours and they'd forget he was there.  They'd say anything.  
  
And men telling Naomi that _this is a mistake_ , that they didn't want a built-in family.  Wanted their own son, not some bastard.  And now, Jim.  Saying, in essence, the same thing.  
  
But last night had been more than Blair had ever dreamed.  He'd felt things he'd never felt with a woman, with anyone.  And now... it was over.  
  
Slowly he rose, put his cup into the sink and turned back to the living room.  
  
God dammit to hell.  
  
*****  
  
The next three weeks were barely livable.  His self-defense lessons stopped as Jim came up with one excuse after another.  The academy was actually getting easier; the closer he came to the end, the more his own natural abilities came to the surface.  By the end of the last week, he could beat the shit out of anyone.  Yahoo.  
  
After the final test at the firing range, he packed up his stuff and headed home.  He was done; a cop.  As luck would have it, the Volvo broke down.  He called the Auto Club and as they were riding back into town, the Volvo trailing behind, Blair happened to glance to his side and spotted Jim's truck, two lanes over, also stopped at the red light.  
  
But Jim wasn't alone.  Next to him sat a man Blair had never seen.  
  
This wouldn't have meant much, as he knew Jim was working with the Feds on a case of post office bombings.  But, as Blair watched, the other man brought his arm up, laid it across the back of the seat and let the back of his hand brush against Jim's cheek.  
  
Blair tore his gaze away, focused on what was in front of him, his mind shutting down.  
  
When he got back to the loft, he walked into his room, pulled out suitcases, filled them, closed them, carried them down to the lobby, walked back up, spent the next hour boxing his belongings, tagging them, then sat down to write Jim a note.  
  
 _Jim,  
  
I can take a hint.  It may take awhile, but eventually, I get it.  I've boxed up my things and tagged them.  You can sell them for all I care.  I just didn't want them cluttering up your home.  I've left the spare room just as I found it.  
  
You said that night was a mistake.  I'm guessing now that maybe the last several months, since Alex, were the mistake.  I've never hated anyone in my life, that's why I'm leaving Cascade.  I don't want to hate you or myself, and I'm damn close to both.  
_  
He didn't sign it, gave it no closure.  He folded it and left it on the table.  He dropped his key next to it and walked out.  He never looked back.  
  
*****  
  
The words of the letter Blair had left behind still swam before Jim's eyes.  After reading it, he'd carried all of Blair's things down to the basement and tucked them into a corner.  Something on his cheeks had gotten in his way and he remembered brushing them away.  
  
The next day, telling Simon that Blair had gone had been hard.  Underneath, Jim had been able to see Simon's anger and hurt, but like the _men_ that they were, they both brushed it away.  
  
Now, sitting in Simon's office, the wreck of his life all around him, he had only some comfort in the telling.  
  
"You see?  I gave him no choice, Simon.  What I did can't be forgiven."  
  
Simon sat back in his chair, stunned by what he'd just heard.  He'd spent the last several weeks almost hating Sandburg for ditching them all.  For running out on them, when in reality....  
  
"Jesus, Jim.  Why did you do it?  If you didn't love him, why the fuck did you do it?"  
  
"That's just it, Simon.  I did love him.  _Do_ love him."  
  
"I don't have a clue what to say here.  I mean, okay, I admit it, I thought you two were already a couple--hell, everyone did."  
  
"Sir, Blair is straight.  I don't generally go around seducing my straight friends, let alone my partners."  
  
"But you did.  According to you."  
  
"Yes, I did.  He made it clear that he was interested and that was all I needed.  No, that's unfair.  He made it clear that he _loved_ me, that he wanted me as much as I wanted him."  
  
"So what the fuck happened?"  
  
Jim found that he couldn't meet his friend's gaze, so he shifted sight to the window.  "I woke up in the middle of the night, in his bedroom, in his arms and I panicked.  Original, uh?  Jesus, Simon, he's _straight_.  And everyone I've ever--"  
  
"No one you _ever_ \--was Sandburg.  You are one sorry son of a bitch, Ellison.  You try to keep the bad things, and throw away the good.  So, now what?"  
  
"So now, we need to send our letters of recommendation to Riverside, Idaho."  
  
Simon took off his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief; more to buy himself a moment to think than because they were dirty.  
  
"Ellison, how could someone with all the intelligence that you have be so obtuse?" He put his glasses back on and said, "Go to Riverside--fix this.  Tell him the truth, Jim.  You're a good man, and you both need each other, and I'll tell you this--Blair Sandburg needs you more than you need him."  
  
Jim knew that Simon hadn't been telling all the truth when he'd said that, but it worked anyway.  
  
Except that that night, the phone call had come.  
  
*****  
  
Jim dropped back to the present.  To a small airport in Canada.  
  
Nothing had changed.  The small plane carrying Blair had still gone down and, as yet, no search had begun.  
  
*****  
  
The present:  
  
Jim decided that he'd almost rather be back in the past--at least there...But he couldn't finish that thought.  
  
He remembered his decision after talking with Simon; his decision to go after Blair.  But on arriving home, a sense of futility overwhelmed him and then of course--the telephone call and his world had taken a nose dive into hell.  
  
He was still there in hell.  And Jim Ellison saw nothing that would convince him that he would be out anytime soon.  
  
The thought that Blair was dead, gone, destroyed, was enough to invite a dark swirl of blackness to settle around his heart and mind.  Which was quite appropriate for hell.  
  
He'd searched his soul for some clue that Blair still existed, assuring himself that he would _know_ if the man he loved so desperately had left this earth.  But there was only a void where emotions and knowledge should be.  
  
Concentrate.  He--just--needed--to--concentrate.  
  
Pitch black, nothing more.  
  
Is that what he would feel if Blair _were_ dead?  Was this what he'd experienced at the fountain?  This emptiness?  
  
No.  He'd felt--despair at the fountain, guilt at the fountain, anger at the fountain--but never this complete--lack of life.  
  
Dear.  God.  He.  _Was_.  Dead.  
  
James Ellison was no stranger to the horrors of plane crashes.  He'd seen them, he'd been in them, the crash in Peru having been the worst.  He'd seen the devastation as a cop and knew only too well what the effects of one small plane, at top flight speed, meeting the earth or a mountain could do to a body.  
  
He shuddered; suddenly nauseous.   He got up quickly and moved toward the bathroom.  
  
*****  
  
Simon watched his detective bolt and almost got up to help.  But something held him back.  Jim would want privacy now.  
  
Simon closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the cushions.  God, he'd never seen Jim like this, never.  Not when he'd lost Danny, not when he'd lost Lila and certainly not when he'd lost Veronica.  He was so... absent.  
  
Banks had observed him come briefly to life as he'd comforted Naomi.  But once they'd all stopped talking and settled in for the wait, Jim had withdrawn.  He wasn't zoning--no chance of that as Simon well knew.  Jim hadn't had his senses online for weeks.  But this... vacant _shell_ was as close to a zone as an _ex_ -Sentinel could get.  And Naomi wasn't much better.  
  
They should be talking, comforting each other, but both Jim and Naomi had retreated into their cocoons of despair and Simon was right there with them.  
  
He checked his watch and almost jumped from his seat.  It was after five and he'd promised to call Daryl, fill him in.  It had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince his son that he needed to stay in Cascade, with his mother.  Simon walked to a secluded corner and dialed his cell phone.  
  
 _"Banks residence."_  
  
"Daryl, it's Dad."  
  
 _"Have they started searching, Dad?  Have they?"  
_  
"No, not yet.  But the good news is that the weathermen are predicting that the fog will lift by morning.  They may be able to launch their search at first light."  
  
 _"Dad, why can't Jim do something?  He could find the plane, he could find Blair."  
_  
Simon was struck dumb.  Stunned, he tried to recover, to gather his wits about him, but Daryl was talking again.  
  
 _"Dad, it's not like I don't know.  I saw him in Peru, I'm not an idiot.  And besides, I know Blair and he would never do what he said he did in that stupid press conference.  You could cover the area by car, Dad, and Jim could listen and watch or maybe go to some ranger stations and I know he could see from there, could see..."  
_  
Simon had to stop him before his own heart broke.  
  
"Daryl, Jim, isn't, can't...", then quietly, "he isn't a sentinel anymore, Son."  
  
There was silence on the other end of the phone.  He strained to hear, caught the ragged breathing, heard the small hitches that told him Daryl was on the verge of tears.  Daryl never cried.  
  
 _"Dad..."  
_  
Simon turned to the wall, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the papered surface.  His son was seventeen, but at that moment Daryl was his baby and he sounded as lost as Jim looked.  
  
"Son, you remember in church?  When Reverend Smithers talked about faith?"  
  
 _"Yeah"_  
  
"We need it now, son."  
  
 _"No"  
_  
Simon's clenched his jaw, not in anger, but in pain and frustration.  This was _not_ the type of conversation he wanted to have with his son over a phone.  This needed... holding... explaining.  
  
"Daryl, where's your mother?"  
  
 _"Gone.  Work"_  
  
Shit.  Of course.  
  
 _"Dad, faith can't help.  Am I supposed to have faith that if Blair is dead, it's for the best?  I can't do that. It isn't for the best.  Could never be for the best."  
_  
God Damn It To Hell.  
  
And in the next breath, he sent up a fervent prayer for guidance, for the faith _he_ needed to survive this and to aid his son.  
  
As he breathed deep, he fought for the words, images of the past crowding in on him.  Images of Jim and Blair in those early weeks and months of their partnership and burgeoning friendship, of all the close calls, and especially of one bleak morning, next to a fountain in front of Hargrove Hall.  
  
Simon thought about past words and deeds; moments of courage and, oddly enough, one memory stood out.  It was the memory of one young man breaching the generation gap between a father and son....  
  
*****  
  
Several months previous:  
  
"You _will_ talk to him, Sandburg.  You got me into this mess and you _will_ get me out."  
  
"Sir, I don't think I'm the one who nee--"  
  
"Oh, but you are," Simon interrupted.  "Aren't you the one who couldn't keep his opinions to himself?  Now, I want you to fix my son.  TODAY."  He busied himself straightening his desk as he added, "He'll be here in fifteen minutes.  Take care of it."  
  
They were standing in Simon's office.  While it had been weeks since they had stopped Garrett Kincaid's second attempt to lay siege to Cascade, the discord between father and son was ongoing.  Simon was angry because Daryl was still set on going to the police academy instead of college; citing Blair Sandburg as his champion.  Blair stood before his _boss_ , his own anger in check, understanding the worry of the man before him.  
  
"Simon, I think you need to sit down with--"  
  
"I don't pay you to think, Sandburg."  
  
"Actually sir?  You don't pay me at all, but if you did, it would most definitely be to think."  
  
Simon put the palms of his hands flat on his desk and rose menacingly.  Glaring at his observer, he said, far too quietly, "For a reason that escapes me, my son has chosen to listen to you in this matter.  He seems to think the sun rises and sets on you.  So... change his mind.  And where _you_ get off telling my son anything, let alone trying to tell me how to handle my son, I'll never know.  You have no idea what it's like to be a father and I doubt that you ever will.  For that matter, you don't have a clue how to be a son.  Change his mind, Sandburg."  
  
Simon failed to notice the sudden flare of anger in the blue eyes, or the sudden flushing of skin.  And he was too wrapped up in his own anger to realize he'd crossed a line.  
  
Blair took several breaths, his mind whispering his mantra over and over again.  A custom oft needed of late.  
  
"Simon, I'll talk with him.  That's all I can promise."  
  
"Fine."  
  
Blair knew when he was being dismissed.  
  
*****  
  
Daryl showed up on time, his face dour.  He was expecting another lecture from his father and was happily surprised when Blair tried to hijack him.  
  
"How does lunch at McGhee's sound?"  
  
"Oh, man, I'd love to go, but mom is expecting me back in an hour.  Dad isn't here?"  
  
"He'll be back shortly, so I thought I'd grab you first, treat you to lunch before he takes over."  
  
Daryl peeked around Blair and frowned at his father's empty office.  He shook his head in resignation.  Figures.  His father insists he meet him at work, then can't be here himself.  
  
Blair, seeing the hurt, took his arm and said, "Let me treat you to lunch downstairs, in the cafeteria.  It's the least the Cascade PD can do for one of its sons.  Come on--sky's the limit."  
  
*****  
  
The line was minimal, so within five minutes they were seated; trays loaded.  As Blair watched Daryl put his sandwich together, he asked, "So, have you decided on the academy?"  
  
"Yep.  Dad's still trying to talk me out of it, but it's what I want to do."  
  
"Have you actually _listened_ to him?"  
  
The beef dip sandwich was on its way to Daryl's mouth, but Blair's words froze it mid-air.  Suspicious, Daryl put the meaty delight down and looked at his friend.  "Dad asked you to talk to me, didn't he?"  
  
Blair chuckled and shook his head.  "Asked, Daryl?  No, your father didn't _ask_.  He ordered."  As the younger man started to rise, his face a study in hurt and anger, Blair motioned impatiently with his right hand and added, "Daryl, I'm not going to say anything I don't believe, and I would certainly never say anything that didn't need saying.  He can order all he wants; that's what he does.  Now, sit down and finish your sandwich."  
  
Still suspicious, Daryl sat and grudgingly picked up his sandwich.  "So.  Talk.  But you're not going to change my mind."  
  
Grinning, Blair taunted, "Betcha five bucks I can."  
  
"Man, you are too much."  
  
"Yep.  Now, here's how I see the whole thing.  If I'm wrong, I'm pretty certain you'll correct me.  Number one; your father loves you.  He'd die for you.  Do we agree so far?"  
  
"Yes."  Then Daryl looked up and challenged, "But I'm _still_ going to the academy."  
  
"Fair enough.  Number two; it would kill your father if anything happened to you.  Agreed?"  
  
In a voice far less tough, Daryl answered, "Yes."  
  
"Good.  So, number three; your father only wants the very best for you and your happiness is first with him.  Agreed?"  
  
"No.  If my happiness came first, he'd let me go the academy."  
  
"Wrong, Daryl.  If your happiness didn't come first, he might _push_ you to the academy.  How many fathers do _you_ know that _don't_ want their sons following in their footsteps?"  
  
Daryl leaned back, his suspicion on full alert.  "Why do I think I'm about to be painted into a collegian corner?"  
  
Blair laughed heartily and for the first time, Daryl joined him.  
  
"Hey, kid, I can't help it if your father loves you more than life, can I?"  
  
"No.  And I'm no kid."  
  
"To me you are.  Remember, around here, _I'm_ the kid.  It feels great to have someone else fit the bill better than me."  
  
"Okay, but only you can use it."  
  
"Deal.  Now, number four; How can college hurt you?  How can having some fun, broadening your education and giving yourself more options be a bad thing?"  
  
"But you said..."  
  
"I said, you need to follow your dreams and I told Simon he needs to let you choose.  I was right.  But that doesn't answer my questions."  
  
"But, I want to start the academy when I graduate.  Why wait?"  
  
"Fair question.  How 'bout this for an answer; College will give you greater opportunities within the department, and coming in as a college graduate automatically ups your salary by over 25% in the first year alone.  Not to mention that a college diploma opens every door in the place, and I'm fully aware of your interest in forensics."  
  
"Twenty-five percent!?"  
  
Blair grinned and nodded.  "Twenty-five percent."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Yeah.  Wow.  And of course, with college you've got your basic gorgeous co-eds, frat parties, football games, alumni weekends, hard work, pulling all-nighters, a wealth of education at your fingertips, gorgeous co-eds, the knowledge of great minds, yours for the taking, gorgeous co-eds, The Spring Dance and..."  
  
"Gorgeous co-eds," they both intoned.  
  
They broke into raucous laughter.  Blair picked up the roll that came with his salad and tossed it across the table at Daryl.  
  
When they quieted down, Daryl asked tentatively, "Do you think... I mean, does Dad...."  
  
"Daryl, your father would be prouder than a peacock if you were to become a police officer, but he wants you to have every option, _every_ opportunity to make a well-informed decision.  And maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to see his only child grow up too quickly.  College provides that much needed bridge for _both_ parent and child."  
  
Daryl shook his head.  "What is it with parents and college?"  
  
"I don't honestly know.  But you might want to consider the difficulty someone like your father would have had in college.  Or your grandfather."  
  
"Never waste an opportunity."  
  
Blair cocked his head and smiled.  "Exactly."  
  
"My grandfather used to say that.  All the time."  
  
"Wise man.  Like your father."  
  
Daryl frowned and looked up at Blair.  "Do you miss not having a father?"  
  
"Whoa, let's not pussy foot around here."  
  
Daryl grinned but didn't back down.  "Do you?"  
  
The salad roll had ended up back on Blair's plate and now he started to tear it up as he answered Daryl's question.  
  
"When I see Simon with you, yeah, I think I miss it.  I look at what kind of father Simon is; how much he loves you, how he's still his own person, but how that person _needs_ you in order to be whole, and yes, I sometimes wish...", his voice trailed off as he become aware of the naked emotion he'd allowed out.  He looked up and smiled, "But then," he grabbed a handful of his hair, "who'd want this for a son?" And he laughed.  
  
"But you do have your mom."  
  
Blair's expression immediately changed; he looked serious and just a bit wistful.  "Yeah.  But there's a difference.  You see, your father and mother not only love you, but they _need_ you too.  You do complete them.  Naomi has never needed me.  I don't _complete_ her.  She needs--the world."  He picked up what was left of the roll and waved it at Daryl.  "You have parents who truly understand what it means to _be_ parents."  
  
"I don't get you."  
  
"Most parents seem to think their kids owe them something.  They just don't get it.  Children are a gift, Daryl.  Your father knows this.  He cherishes you.  So does your mother."  
  
"But... your mom didn't?"  
  
"Oh, no, Mom was great, don't get me wrong.  I'm just talking about parents in general."  
  
Daryl nodded in sudden understanding.  "You mean Jim's dad."  
  
"Jeesh, Daryl, you get around."  
  
"Small child--big ears."  
  
"Not so small anymore.  Heck, you're taller than me."  
  
"Oh, like that's hard."  
  
"Man, that was harsh."  But Blair was laughing.  "And speaking of parents, your hour is up."  
  
Daryl wanted to talk more about Blair and his mother but, intuitively, he realized that Blair had already revealed more than he ever had.  They got up, dumped their trays and headed to the elevator.  Neither saw the shadow separate itself from the partition behind the table they'd occupied.  
  
Simon watched his son and Jim's partner enter the elevator, laughing, and he continued to watch even as the doors closed.  
  
*****  
  
By the time Simon got back up to his office, Blair had left to meet Jim at the courthouse and Daryl was gone.  He wandered into his office, his mind still on the conversation he'd _overheard_.  As he sat down, he noticed a letter, addressed to him, in Daryl's handwriting.  He tore it open.  
  
 _Dad,  
  
I'm going to accept the scholarship to Rainier.  But right after graduation, I'm going to the academy.  
  
By the way, would you give this five dollar bill to Blair?  
  
Love you_.  
  
Simon fingered the bill.  
  
*****  
  
Daryl was still waiting.  Waiting for words of assurance.  Simon reached into his pocket, pulled out his money clip and slipped a wrinkled bill out.  It was the same five dollar bill.  He'd never had the opportunity to give it to Blair.  Or to talk with him, thanks to the media and a small story about sentinels.  
  
"Son.  Listen to me.  Blair is alive.  I'm sure of it.  We'll bring him home, okay?"  
  
 _"I believe you, Dad."_  
  
*****  
  
Naomi came out of her reverie and realized that she was alone again.  She looked around, almost frantically, and spotted Simon in a far corner, talking on his cell phone.  Jim was nowhere to be seen.  
  
She noted rather distractedly that Simon looked terrible, his head resting against the wall. He appeared... lost.  
  
Weren't they all lost right now?  And how could they be lost when only Blair was lost?  They _knew_ where they were.  _They_ were safe, could tell anyone who asked that yes, they did indeed know where they were.  Could Blair do that right now?  
  
She bit back a groan.  
  
"mommy?"  
  
Her head turned sharply, looking for the child that belonged to the voice.  
  
"mommy?"  
  
"Blair?  Honey?"  
  
*****  
  
"mommy?"  
  
"mommy?"  
  
A small chubby hand plucked at her shift and Naomi glanced down and into the worried blue eyes of her four-year-old son.  
  
"Honey, I'm talking.  You know you shouldn't interrupt."  
  
"zoo.  you promised."  
  
"I said we _might_ get to the petting zoo.  But right now, we're working on our protest, okay?  That's why we came to the park, sweetie.  Why don't you let me get your chocolate milk and you sit down and finish your crayon drawing, okay?"  
  
Short, flyaway curls shook as Blair demanded, "did too promise, you _prooo-mused_."  
  
"Okay, okay, we'll go soon.  But in the meantime, do your coloring okay?"  
  
She took his hand and led him back to the tree where their hamper and blanket were and plopped him down.  From the cooler, she pulled a chocolate milk, opened the tab, handed it to her son and ran her hands through his curls.  
  
"You need a haircut, young man.  Now, as soon as we're done here, you and I will take in the petting zoo, okay?"  
  
Answering with happy nod and one brown moustache, Blair bent over his coloring book.  
  
Naomi stood and went back to her friends.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of the merry-go-round proved too much for Blair.  He folded his book, took the last gulp of his chocolate milk and got up.  He walked up to his mommy and pulled on her shift again.  
  
"mommy, can I have a nickel?"  
  
Without looking at him, Naomi fished in her pocket and came up with a quarter.  She handed it down and he happily took the large, shiny coin and scampered off.  
  
*****  
  
The merry-go-round was in motion when he ran up, so he knew he had to wait his turn, but it was hard.  There were only three ahead of him, so unless almost all the other kids stayed on for second go-around, he'd make it on.  
  
His eyes searched for the black cat and when he spotted it, he almost jumped for joy.  He just _had_ to get the big, black cat--he just _had_ to.  
  
The music slowed and gradually, so did the ride.  Kids got off and Blair started to edge up, eager to get to the cat.  The man at the gate took his quarter and gave him change and Blair was running and climbing up, but the cat was on the other side so he hurried, but other, bigger kids rushed past him, each eager to claim their favorite animal.  
  
But no one chose the big black cat.  Grinning happily, Blair tried to climb up, but it was hard.  The jaguar was leaping and the foothold was higher than some of the other animals, but Blair wasn't going to give up.  
  
Suddenly, two hands went around his waist and he was lifted up and settled on the cat.  When he turned around, a big teenager was grinning at him.  
  
"Settled now, kid?"  
  
He smiled back, a little shy, and he nodded.  His eyes went down to the teen's feet, then all the way back up.  He'd never seen anyone this tall before.  
  
"Mighty brave of you to choose the wild jaguar, young man.  I'm impressed."  
  
Blair was so in awe of the huge black teen, he could only nod and smile.  His hand went out and soothed over the neck of the cat and he finally found his voice.  
  
"mine."  
  
A wide grin split the handsome face and a booming laugh rang out.  "Yours, uh?  Well, okay, my man."  
  
"SIMON?"  
  
The teen turned away from Blair and yelled, "Just a minute, Matt, hold your horses, I'll be right there."  Then he turned back to Blair and said, "Well, little bro' calls.  If you need any help getting down, just holler, okay?"  
  
"'kay."  
  
The teen ambled away and the merry-go-round started up.  
  
Blair leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he imagined himself in the jungle, evil hunters after him and his faithful companion, the black jag.  
  
But nobody was faster than his cat, so Blair knew he would be safe.  
  
*****  
  
He rode the cat two more times, but finally curious about the whistling sound he could hear every now and then, he got off and wandered toward the inviting, cheerful noise.  
  
As he came around a corner, his eyes widened in amazement.  
  
A choo-choo train.  And it really moved, and children were on it, riding it around and every so often, the engineer would blow the red and gold whistle on the top of the engine.  
  
Blair looked in his palm, at the shiny dime staring up at him.  Would it be enough?  
  
Because he _had_ to ride the train.  He just _had_ to.  
  
Again a line.  His little foot tapped, his hand hugging the gate as he once again waited his turn.  His eyes followed the train all over the tracks, moved down to the shiny wheels, up to the top of the engine and the whistle, across all the colors and designs, and his grin widened in equal proportion to his eyes.  
  
The train pulled up and chugged to a stop and the children were disgorged.  The line moved and then he was there, handing the dime to the lady but she put out a hand, stopping him.  
  
"You have to have a ticket."  
  
Ticket?  
  
She must have seen his confusion, because she turned him around and pointed him in the direction of a small booth.  "There, you can buy your ticket there."  She gave him a pat on his behind and sent him toward the lady in the booth.  
  
But he'd miss his ride.  He turned back to her and she smiled down at him.  "There's time if you hurry."  
  
He ran.  
  
He plopped the dime on the wooden shelf and a pink ticket was shoved over to him.  Holding it in the air, he ran back.  
  
And got into another line.  
  
The lady at the front spotted him and reached over the other children, grabbed his arm and pulled him to the front.  "Here, I saved you a spot."  She took his ticket, lifted him up and set him down _right behind the engineer_!  She ruffled his curls and walked back to the others.  
  
Two minutes later, the train started to move and Blair was right up front!  
  
They went around two times, the wind blowing in his face, capturing his short curls and he laughed and giggled and held on tight.  Then the engineer took his hand and raised it up and fastened his fingers around a long string and he said loudly, "PULL IT."  
  
Blair pulled it and the whistle went off-- _TOOT-TOOT_ and _he'd_ done it!  He'd made the whistle toot!  
  
But eventually, the ride came to an end.  And he didn't have any more money.  But it had been the best ever and he _had_ to tell mommy.  Now.  
  
He ran out and back into the park, eyes searching for his tree.  But, but, but--he couldn't find it.  
  
Not _it_.  Not _their_ tree.  Not their stuff.  And not his mommy.  
  
He turned his head in every direction--but no mommy.  He started walking, looking, searching and eyeing every large group but they were never his mommy.  
  
He stopped after what seemed like forever because there was a drinking fountain and he was hot and thirsty, but it was a grown-up fountain and that made him mad.  He tried anyway.  Got wet, but didn't get anything to drink.  
  
He went back to walking.  And searching.  
  
*****  
  
"But a sit-down has been done, Naomi.  It didn't work."  
  
"We sat down in the chancellor's office, that's why it didn't work."  
  
"So you're suggesting we sit down where?"  
  
"Right smack dab in the middle of the field.  Where we can do the most good."  
  
"Holy shit, Naomi.  You're fuckin' brilliant."  
  
Naomi gazed around the sea of young faces and smiled.  This felt good.  She might be the only one with a child, but damn, she _would_ make a difference.  And the whole idea of the military on their campus, doing maneuvers on their football field, well, no thank you!  
  
"Is one of you Naomi?"  
  
All heads swiveled at the voice and stared at a burly police officer.  Naomi stepped forward and said, "I am.  What's the problem?  We're just students sitting in a park talking, officer."  
  
He scowled at her and from behind his leg he pulled something out.  
  
"Did you lose this, ma'am?"  
  
She gazed down to see Blair, face tear stained, fingers wrapped in the man's trousers, looking unhappily up at her.  The big cop reached down and picked her son up as easily as if he were nothing heavier than a pillow.  Then he glared at her.  
  
"I, yes, I mean, no, I... Blair?"  
  
He blinked at her and whispered, "mommy?"  
  
She held out her arms and the cop leaned in, letting Blair make the choice.  He hesitated, but finally let go of the man's neck and let his arms carry him into his mother's.  
  
"Maybe you should care a bit more about your child than your college protests, uh?" With those words, he stalked off.  
  
Richie Howard stood and said, "Who the hell does he think he is?  The pig."  
  
Everyone else immediately joined in, but Naomi was strangely silent as she watched the man disappear into the dusk.  
  
When she couldn't see him anymore, she looked at her son, pushed back sweaty curls from his forehead and started to say something but his expression stopped her.  
  
He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before--as if she were a complete stranger.  She frowned and said, "Honey?"  
  
"you didn't come for me.  you didn't find me.  you didn't even know I was gone."  
  
Dear God.  
  
*****  
  
Dear God.  
  
Naomi Sandburg covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.  He was lost again, but this time, she knew it, she'd come as far as she could, and still--it wouldn't be enough.  
  
*****  
  
Jim moved slowly away from the stall and stumbled to the sink.  He turned on the water, bent over and splashed the liquid over his face.  He bent lower and slurped up some water, swished it around in his mouth and spit;  repeating several times.  
  
As he washed his hands, the bathroom door opened and Simon appeared behind him, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"He's alive, Jim.  I'm certain of it."  
  
"Oh?  And what little bird dropped that piece of information into your lap?"  
  
Simon ignored the pain-induced sarcasm. "No one, Jim.  But to quote my son, it simply can't be any other way."  
  
"oh, sure, throw Daryl into this."  Jim smiled slightly.  
  
"My son, like your partner, is rarely wrong."  
  
"Simon, you know the odds as well as I do."  
  
"Yep, and any odds involving Blair Sandburg, automatically _favor_ Blair Sandburg."  
  
"You... you've got a point there, Simon."  
  
"Damn straight I do.  Now let's get back out to Naomi."  
  
The two men came out of the bathroom and Jim immediately noticed Naomi's condition.  He rushed to her side, Simon right behind him.  
  
"Naomi?"  
  
She lifted her head and they could see the track of tears.  Jim sat beside her, on the small end table, put his arm around her and pulled her close.  
  
"It's okay, he's going to be okay.  He _is_ okay."  
  
"No, he's lost, just like before and I can't go to him, can't find him.  It's always been like that."  
  
"Naomi, what do you mean?"  
  
She sniffled into the Kleenex Simon handed her and her words rushed out.  
  
"When he was four, at Tilden Park, before we moved, I was with several other Berkeley students, I was going to school part-time, I was just 21, we were protesting the military coming onto campus and were meeting at Tilden.  Blair wanted to go to the petting zoo, but I got him some chocolate milk and he played with his crayons and the next thing I knew, it was three hours later and a policeman was bringing him to me because he'd got lost.  See?"  
  
Neither man understood in the least, but it didn't matter to Naomi, she just kept on going...  
  
"And he _knew_ , you see?  Blair knew that I hadn't even known he was gone.  If you could've seen the expression on his face.  The way he looked at me, like I was a stranger to him.  That was the beginning, I realize that now.  And he had so much fun until he couldn't find me, he rode the merry-go-round, his favorite animal, the black cat, and he rode the train, and I was so lucky because _everyone_ else took care of him, but I didn't.  You see?"  
  
Jim hugged her even harder and looked to Simon for help, but Simon was staring at her, his mouth open.  
  
"Simon, what's wrong?"  
  
"I was in 'Frisco in '73.  Vacation with dad.  Last vacation before going off to college.  Me and my little brother.  I took him on the merry-go-round and there was this little tyke, in shorts and yellow tank top and sandals.  He had short curly hair and the biggest blue eyes I've ever seen."  
  
Simon stopped, turned to Jim and added, "just like... Blair's.  And he couldn't get up onto the jaguar, it was too high, so I lifted him up."  
  
Naomi gasped, reached out and took Simon's hand.  "He told me... a big teenager with a huge smile helped him get up on the cat.  And he _was_ wearing shorts and a yellow tank top."  
  
The three people looked at each other, all sounds fading, the room melting into the background, Simon's hand tightening around Naomi's.  
  
Jim's voice broke the spell.  
  
"What did you mean when you said, _that was the beginning_?"  
  
Naomi turned tear-filled eyes in his direction and for a moment it looked as though she wouldn't be able to answer him, but then she coughed a bit and said, "That's when it started, when Blair started to _do_ for himself.  He wouldn't let me help him with anything.  He was so small and trying so hard to be so self-sufficient but now I realize, it wasn't cute, it wasn't something to brag about.  He didn't think that I... he believed that I... don't you see?"  
  
Her plaintive cry tore at Jim's heart because he _did_ see.  It explained so much about his guide.  
  
"Naomi, that's happened to all of us.  We get wrapped up in something and we totally forget our kids.  It happens to everyone."  
  
"No Simon.  This was different.  For three hours, I _wasn't_ a mother.  I wasn't a twenty-one year old with a four year old son.  I was a college student making a difference.  He could have been hurt, or kidnapped, and I'd never have known it.  I was oblivious to anything but that group of kids I was with.  What kind of mother was I?"  
  
"I can only judge you by your son and with that as my guide; you were one hell of a mother.  I'm sure you made mistakes, as do we all, but if Blair is any indication, well..."  
  
Jim added quietly, "He loves you Naomi.  He thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread and he's always been proud of you."  
  
Suddenly, Simon chuckled.  "Did I ever tell you two about the thing with Blair and Amy?"  
  
Both Naomi and Jim shook their heads and smiled encouragingly.  
  
"Well, you know I started seeing Amy right after I got out of the hospital after that bank fiasco, right?"  
  
Jim nodded and Naomi said, "Blair mentioned something about a nurse you were seeing.  What happened?"  
  
Simon gazed at the two faces in front of him, both eager to hear his story, to share a piece of the man they were missing and it was right, this was how it should be...  
  
"Well, I was really confused.  Amy was so much younger than I was, and then I discovered she was seeing someone while seeing me.  Blair overheard this conversation between me and Amy, and I gotta tell ya, his advice sucked."  
  
Naomi actually giggled and Jim laughed loud enough that some heads turned in the small room.   But Simon paid no heed as he continued, a smile on his face.  "Not everything that comes out of your son's mouth is golden, Naomi."  
  
"Tell me something I don't know, Simon."  
  
Banks chuckled and went on. "Anyway, I'm talking to Amy on the phone while sitting at Jim's desk, so naturally Mr. Observer sits down like I'm not there and I'm saying something like, ' _Look, Amy, I'm not jealous, okay?'_ and Blair says, under his breath, 'Liar, liar, pants on fire...', so I kick him hard.   While he's rubbing his shin, I say something like, ' _If you want to see other guys, fine, but that isn't what I want to do'_ and again, under his breath the twerp says, 'No kidding?  And I thought you really had the hots for Rafe...'."  
  
At that, both Naomi and Jim started laughing again and as they wiped their eyes, Jim added, "Yep, that's Blair all over.  Hope you kicked him again, Simon."  
  
"Nope, I pulled his hair.  You _know_ how he hates having anyone touch his hair."  
  
"God, yes.  He won't even let me really touch it, and I'm his mother!"  
  
Jim leaned forward and said, "So what happened next?"  
  
"So I turned away from him and lowered my voice, and don't ask me why I didn't just move to my office 'cause hell if I know.  Anyway, I'm now whispering and Blair starts leaning over, like he's looking for something as I say, 'Amy, do you want us to continue seeing each other?'  and Blair starts humming, really loud and shaking his head at me and I'm swatting my hand at him and he mouths at me, 'put her on hold, Simon-now' so I do and I turn to him and hiss out, ' _What Sandburg?'_ and he says, 'Never ask a woman if she wants to continue seeing you, Simon.  Jeesh.  Show a little--finesse.'  
  
"Now at this point, I'm thinking, okay, here's Sandburg, working his way through half the female contingency of the Cascade PD and he's not even thirty; and I'm in my forties and have been with one woman since just after college, so maybe I should listen to him, right?"  
  
Naomi tried to look serious and nod understandingly but she failed miserably and Jim just sat back shaking his head.  
  
"Right, so I say, ' _Finesse, Sandburg?'_ and he says, 'Yeah, Simon, finesse.  She's a sexually confident woman of the nineties--it's different now, you know?  It's not unusual to date several different people at one time.  Just chill out, man.'  
  
"'CHILL OUT?' I yell at him, and we both look quickly around but no one's listening and Amy is still hanging on.  So I say, ' _I'll have you know, Sandburg, I'm a sexually confident man of the nineties and I still don't want to date someone else while I'm seeing Amy, you got that_?'  and he says, 'Hey, I understand.  Do what you gotta do, Simon', so I do.  I get back on with Amy and tell her I _don't_ want to see other people and I'd prefer it if she didn't either, and she says she's going to but that I'm not going to be one of them and she hangs up.  
  
"Well, _I_ hang up, stand, and I'm feeling kind of... lost, and Blair says, 'Simon, she's out there somewhere and she _won't_ want to see anyone but you' and I just stare at him and he smiles, kinda cagey-like, and I stick my cigar in my mouth, nod and stride into my office."  
  
Simon looked at his best friend and his other best friend's mother and smiled.  "Guess maybe some stuff he says might be worth listening to, huh?"  
  
Naomi favored him with a small grin and he leaned forward to ask another question.  "Tell me," Simon lowered his voice as if about to be let in on some grand conspiracy, "He didn't always talk as much as he does now?"  
  
His broad smile encouraged her and her own grin widened in response.  "I wish I could, Simon, but I used to call him my little chatterbox."  
  
Simon shot Jim a triumphant look and crowed, "You heard it here, Jim.  We now have ample ammunition."  
  
Naomi laughed outright at that and added, "God, he's really going to kill me, but you know, he did have his quiet moments."  The incredulous looks made her hasten to add, "No, really, he did.  Especially if I had company.  He could be _very_ quiet then.  He'd almost disappear."  She gave a slight giggle, a sound that gave Jim and Simon a glance at the girl she'd been.  
  
"He'd get all shy and duck his head, but he'd sit quietly and listen to everything we said.  But when we were alone, or with someone he trusted, he never stopped.  He never slowed down, always asking or showing or sharing."  
  
Her eyes became almost dreamy as she said, "I can remember--and don't _either_ of you ever tell him about this--but I'd wake up in the middle of the night, when he was still in a crib,  I'd just _have_ to see him, reassure myself, and I'd creep in, not wanting to wake him, and he'd be laying there chattering away, not making a lick of sense, playing with his toes.  I'd peek over the edge of his crib, and he'd start giggling and his fingers would start reaching for me.  
  
"Later, when he could stand, he'd haul himself up and tilt his head and start chatting.  Who knew what he was saying--I mean, you could only understand maybe every fifth word.  And you know, he was _always_ awake before me, playing by himself, chattering away."  
  
"Bet he never stopped moving either," Jim added, a twinkling of memory in his eyes, his voice wistful.  
  
"No, he never did."  She turned to Simon and said, "You know how babies love to ride in the car, how they generally fall right to sleep?"  
  
Simon smiled, as he remembered taking Daryl out for more than a few midnight rides to get him to sleep.  He said, "I know _exactly_ what you mean."  
  
"Well, it never worked with Blair.  He'd perk right up and start babbling.  His head would whip around, eyes trying to see everything and his hands, waving and pounding, fingers moving... God, even his toes wiggled.  
  
"Same thing when I'd take him out in his stroller.  He'd never just sit back."  Her eyes were sparkling now, her voice proud as she went on.  "He'd lean forward, chubby little legs bouncing to some beat only he could hear as he watched, grinned and babbled."  
  
She giggled again and said to Simon, "You know, I do believe I'm the first mother who needed a baby leash!  
  
"It's odd though," she whispered, "Because when he _was_ asleep, he'd be so still."  Then Naomi looked at both men in turn and asked, "Do you suppose it was his body's way of re-energizing?"  
  
"Oh, yeah", said Jim.  "I used to watch him study and you're right, his fingers, his legs, they never stopped.  If he was listening to his headphones, his body would be bopping to whatever god-awful tribal music he was listening to.  As long as he was awake, he'd be going full-bore.  But when he'd fall asleep on the couch, he wouldn't twitch a muscle.  He was most definitely gathering energy for the next onslaught!"  
  
Naomi's eyes seemed to bore right through to Jim's soul and the mood between the three of them  shifted subtly.  "Why did he tell me he was getting a job in Tacoma, Jim?"  
  
He'd been afraid of this moment, but now that it was here...  
  
"Because I screwed up royally.  I love Blair but I couldn't deal."  
  
She seemed to know exactly what he meant by his loving Blair.  "Deal?  Because you're both men?"  
  
Jim stood and wiping the sweat from his palms down his thigh, he took the seat across from Blair's mother.  
  
"No, not that."  He shook his head and gave her a wry smile, full of irony.  "Your son had me pegged from the get-go.  He told me all my life reactions were fear-based and he was right.  I couldn't accept his love, because if I did, it meant accepting his leaving, or dying, just like everyone...," his words died on his lips as he realized what he'd just said.  
  
Naomi lowered her head and sighed.  Her breath hitched and Simon questioned gently, "Naomi?"  
  
"So many mistakes."  The words were almost whispered and it seemed as if she were talking to herself rather than to Jim or Simon.  
  
"I asked him how he could forgive me, you know.  In the car at Rainier, just before his press conference."  
  
Jim swallowed the boulder that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat, her words suddenly terrifying him, but she continued unaware.  
  
"I should learn to think before I act.  But I've never learned and I never listened, but I did that day..."  
  
*****  
  
He was fiddling with his collar, staring over his steering wheel and checking out the front of Rainier.  He was nervous, his foot tapping constantly.  It was breaking Naomi's heart.  She watched him as he looked around the University, as if memorizing it, cataloguing it for future reference.  
  
He started going over his notes again and she knew he didn't need to, the subject and his words forever engraved on his heart.  
  
This was her fault and she didn't know if she could cope.  "How could you forgive me, Blair?"  
  
He put the index cards down and faced her, his eyes shining back at her.  "You're my mom and I love you.  Besides, I'm as much to blame for this as anyone--maybe more."  
  
He picked up a couple of cards and tapped them relentlessly on the edge of his hand.  "Mom, I've been a fool for three years.  I _knew_ I could never publish, that the damn thing could never see the light of day.  Deep inside, I knew this.  But still I persisted, still I stayed and continued to work on it.  Why?"  
  
The very action of answering her seemed to act like a balm on his tortured soul.  He reached over and gently took her hand.  "Mom, I gotta tell ya, I didn't know the answers to those questions before, but I do now.  I love Jim Ellison and I would kill to protect him.  So today... I'm taking a life.  For him.  Do you understand what I'm saying?"  
  
She nodded, numb, her mind frozen.  
  
"It's okay, Mom, honest."  
  
*****  
  
Naomi's fingers had shredded the Kleenex as she related the exchanged words and now she looked up and said, "And of course, I did understand."  
  
Simon threw a worried glance at Jim and seeing his pale face and shaking hands, he hastened to add, "Jim, it's not as if--"  
  
But Naomi interrupted, not really hearing Simon.  "He didn't mean he was taking his life in the sense of his career or his reputation, he was almost... happy to give up his academic life.  What he meant was his life with _you_ , Jim."  
  
For a moment, neither man could speak as the import of her words struck home.  
  
 _His life with you.  
_  
"He figured that once he stood in front of those people, the cameras capturing every word; once he declared himself and his work a fraud, there be no more life with you. He wouldn't be accepted any longer; he'd lose his observer pass and his home, with you."  
  
"That's what was killing him as he took that podium, but he did it--gladly--to protect the people and the man he loved."  
  
"And to protect me," she added, her voice choking.  
  
She looked at Jim, her eyes soul-deep sad.  "Jim, if I could take back one moment of my life, it would be the moment I hit that send button."  
  
"I know, Naomi.  I know.  So many things, words and deeds I'd give anything to take back.  _Anything._ "  
  
The two people who loved Blair Sandburg the most shared their regrets and, for a brief moment, their souls.  
  
"He knew he'd destroyed the trust you'd placed in him, Jim.  That devastated him as much as losing you.  
  
Simon was suddenly hit by a tidal wave of emotion.  Naomi and Jim were talking about Blair in the past tense.  Moments before, Blair had been _alive_.  
  
"He's _still_ devastated, Ellison, but not so much that he couldn't tell you off!"  
  
Jim's head jerked up at the anger in Simon's voice, but before he could say anything, Simon rumbled on.  "How dare you two talk about him as if he were dead!  You're both giving up and there's no excuse for that.  Blair Sandburg is not dead; period."  
  
*****  
  
Outside the small room, there was a sudden flurry of activity.  Phones rang, employees of the airline scurried about and the President of AirMobile Charters came out of his office.  
  
Evan Harris was a tall man in his late forties, well-groomed; black hair graying at the temples.  He'd been flying planes since his fourteenth birthday, and in 1980 he'd started AirMobile.  It was his only child. As he came out of his office, head held high, eyes black-rimmed with fatigue, he headed directly for the VIP lounge.  
  
There was no way to do this well.  
  
*****  
  
The door to the lounge opened and all eyes were immediately focused on the tall, imposing man who entered.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm Evan Harris and I own and operate AirMobile Charters.  We received word about twenty minutes ago, from the United States Air Force, that our plane has been found."  
  
There were no cheers, no gasps, nothing as the small group assembled about the room waited for the other shoe to drop.  Harris gazed around him and he could see the truth in their eyes but he knew they would still not be prepared.  
  
"The plane was spotted by one of our satellites.  It was located at the bottom of a gorge, wreckage spread out over a one mile radius.  No survivors appeared on the satellite picture."  
  
"I've been told that, fog or no fog, the search team will move in; on foot if need be.  I will keep you posted as more information becomes available.  In the meantime, I suggest you allow us to shuttle you to the lodge for the evening.  I have prepared the necessary statements and will address the press as soon as we get you all settled."  
  
*****  
  
Harris stood by the door as the families, friends and co-workers of the passengers of flight 16 filed out, some asking short, quiet questions, others too numb to do anything more that go where told.    
  
The room was finally empty--almost.  
  
Evan turned to find three people seated in the far corner staring expectantly at him.  Puzzled, he offered, "I understand if you wish to remain, but I strongly encourage you to spend the evening at the lodge.  Tomorrow may be quite long."  
  
Jim stepped forward, hand extended, "I'm Detective James Ellison, Cascade Police Department.  This," he indicated Simon, "is my boss, Captain Simon Banks, Major Crime and this," his hand rested on Naomi's shoulder, "is Blair Sandburg's mother.  Blair is a passenger on your flight."  
  
Evan nodded, as he shook hands with the detective, his mind supplying him with information on Blair Sandburg, the one passenger _not_ affiliated with Sweetwater Films.  
  
"I have a question, before we head over to the lodge.  I believe you stated that the wreckage was spread out over a _one_ mile radius of the crash site, is that correct?"  
  
"Yes, Detective Ellison, that is the information I received."  
  
"You don't find that strange?  I have some knowledge of crash sites, Mr.  Harris.  And I find it extremely unlikely that your jet would leave only a one mile radius worth of wreckage.  I've heard that metal, fragments of the plane, luggage and clothing can be found anywhere from ten, up to twenty miles from the crash site."  
  
Evan Harris' mouth dropped open.  All his years in aviation, all his experience and still he'd missed this very important fact.  "You're right of course."  He ran his fingers through his hair, his face a study in confusion.  
  
"Do you have any theory as to why the satellite picked up wreckage within the mile only?"  
  
"You said the plane was found at the bottom of a gorge?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And the terrain above?"  
  
"On the eastern edge, dense woods, the western edge, sparsely covered."  
  
"So the plane coming down on the western edge..."  
  
Harris' eyes narrowed as he visualized the gorge, the cliffs and the surrounding area.  Finally, "If I'm correct in following this thought process, you're saying that the plane might have made some sort of landing on the western edge--"  
  
"And fallen at a later time.  Yes, that's what I'm suggesting."  
  
Harris' eyes flicked to Naomi and back to Ellison.  "That doesn't mean--"  
  
"I know, but it's a possibility.  The passengers might have, or even some--before the plane went over."  
  
*****  
  
Jim, Naomi and Simon had finally opted _not_ to head over to the lodge, preferring instead to stay close to their best source of information.  After Jim had his conversation with Harris, the airline owner had hurried out, hope alive for the first time since he'd been given the news about his plane.  
  
A plate of sandwiches and hot coffee had been delivered to the threesome and as they nibbled, none really feeling any pangs of hunger, Naomi asked, "Jim, why can't we go looking for him?"  
  
"Why?  What could we do that an experienced search team can't?"  
  
Simon, understanding exactly where this was going, having had a similar conversation with his son, quickly intervened.  "Jim, she means, you know."  
  
Naomi's eyes flicked from one man to the other, then she asked, "What?  What aren't you saying, Simon?"  
  
"They're gone, Naomi," Jim answered quietly.  
  
"Oh god."  
  
*****  
  
One small light in the corner gave the lounge a faint, but warm glow.  Jim stood in the same spot he'd found Naomi upon his and Simon's arrival, how many hours ago?  It seemed like days.  Naomi  had finally fallen asleep in Simon's arms, and he followed soon after.  The building was quiet; the majority of the media having deserted the airport for the lodge.   
  
Jim knew that Evan Harris was somewhere about as were two staff members whose job it was to keep the three of them happy.  Word had come down that yes, a search team would be heading to the gorge by foot, come morning.  
  
Now, in these early hours before dawn, Jim tried to connect with himself, with his past--with Blair.  As he stared out over the inky blackness, at his own vague shape, he didn't even try to stop the parade of moments that passed before his eyes, because they all involved Blair.  
  
He could clearly see Blair's face gazing up at him three years ago, in a perfume shop.  They'd been looking for the product he'd smelled on that small piece of Veronica Sarris' cap.  Blair had been smiling that happy, lopsided grin of his as he'd explained about the discussion he and the female shop clerk had been having while Jim worked on identifying the scent.  
  
"Yeah, you know, common interests; she's into Zuni fetishes.  What?  Fetish as in small carved figures, okay?"  
  
Jim had never told Blair, but several months later, he'd purchased four such carvings.  A wolf, an owl, a serpent and black jaguar.  Since then, his collection had grown to over twenty, all upstairs, all hidden a small, hand carved box on his dresser.  
  
Jim smiled as he remembered another moment early in their partnership--very early.  
  
"I may be a rookie in your little Dirty Harry world..."  
  
His grin broadened at the idea of being compared to Dirty Harry, a character and a series of movies that ranked among his favorites.  
  
How much later was it that Blair had begun to actually _enjoy_ Jim's _little Dirty Harry world_?  
  
He thought back to the armed robbery they'd had the good fortune to be driving by.  He'd sent Blair to call for backup and he'd somehow been caught right in the middle of it.  Using some pretty quick thinking, not to mention some innovative techniques, he'd taken the fire hose to the baddies.  Later, worried, Jim had tried to tell him about how to expect some shock, but Blair had jumped in with both feet.  
  
"I'm _way_ beyond shock, man, I am like, energized!  Now I know what's it like to be you... that reptilian brain, that primal man, survival of the fittest..."  
  
Was that when it had started?  That gradual immersion in Jim's world and away from his academic one?  He'd never told Blair what a good job he'd done that day.  Not really.  
  
Unbidden, a picture of Blair looking up at him and saying, "..you know where to find me" and his heart constricted.    
  
_You know where to find me._ What a laugh.  He hadn't had a clue then and he didn't have a clue now.  
  
Jim noticed that the man staring back at him in the window was crying.  
  
*****  
  
At nine o'clock the next morning, all hell broke loose.  Evan Harris chose to inform the three quests still sequestered in his lounge, personally.  Coffee, fruit and breakfast rolls had just been delivered, and the three occupants were helping themselves to some much needed caffeine when Harris walked in.  He walked over to Naomi and took her hand.  
  
"Mrs.  Sandburg, they've been found."  He smiled broadly and then added, "Or should I say, they found us?"  
  
*****  
  
"Take this turn-off Simon."  
  
Simon signaled and made the left Jim had indicated.  His detective was acting as navigator, the map supplied by Harris spread out in front of him, the directions in his right hand.  Naomi sat behind them. Glancing back at her, Simon suspected that Blair's bouncing might be hereditary.    
  
"How many did he say had been hurt, Jim?"  
  
Head down as he studied the map, Jim answered, "Three.  But it didn't sound as though any were seriously injured.  Not if they succeeded in doing what it appears they did."  
  
Naomi smiled into the rear-view mirror at Simon, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat.  
  
"He's alive.  He's... there and alive, Simon."  She said it with such joy and wonder, Simon felt the constriction in his throat and could only nod before turning his attention back to the road.  
  
"Simon, we travel three miles on this road and then it'll be a right on to 61.  We'll take 61 all the way.  I'm figuring," he glanced at his watch, "I'm figuring another three hours."  
  
Three more hours.  The phrase became a mantra for them.  Three more hours and Blair.  Alive.  
  
Harris hadn't been able to give them much initial information and they hadn't wanted to wait around for more before heading out.  What he _had_ been able to tell them was that early that morning, three forest rangers received the shock of their lives when the passengers and crew of AirMobile Flight 16 had traipsed up to their front door.  
  
The ranger station was four hours from the airport by car, and that was all Jim or Naomi had to hear.  Harris wisely had given in and provided them with directions and the map Jim was now poring over.  
  
Naomi glanced at her watch and grinned.  Three more hours.  She glanced back up and out the window, her mind a swirl of thoughts and memories.  When she spoke, neither Jim nor Simon knew if it was to them.  
  
"I considered an abortion--I did.  I was sixteen, didn't know who the father could be; I was living in a commune, and I was a child.  But I didn't consider it long.  I know Blair thinks I have knowledge of who is father is, but I don't.  Letting him believe that seemed easier than facing the truth."  
  
She sighed and clasped her hands tightly together.  "I lived with six other girls and eight boys.  We believed in free love and I slept with all of the boys.  And they _were_ boys.  None older than nineteen.  How do you tell your son something like that?"  
  
It was clear she didn't expect an answer.  Both men remained quiet.  
  
She leaned back and closed her eyes.  "Do you know what changed my mind?" Again, she didn't wait for any response.  "It was a boy.  In the doctor's office.  He was wearing a football uniform, about ten years old, blonde hair and pale blue eyes.  He stood in the doorway, smiling and as the doctor told me about my choices, about taking time to think things over, the boy pointed to my stomach and said, 'yes'. Strange, isn't it?  Because it seemed that no one knew who he was.  The receptionist insisted that no boy had gone back to the examining room."  
  
With a shaking hand, Jim pulled out his wallet and fumbled inside. He flipped back plastic-sheathed pictures of himself with Steven, past several of himself and Blair; until he came to one near the back.  He slipped it out and turned around, handing it to Naomi.  
  
"Did he look like this?"  
  
She took the offered photo, slipped on her glasses and gasped.  "How?  This--this is... this is the boy!" She pulled off the glasses and shaking her head said, "Jim?  I don't understand."  
  
He turned back in his seat and whispered, "That's a picture of me."  
  
*****  
  
Simon pulled the Crown Victoria into the gravel driveway and shut off the engine.  No one moved.  Three pairs of eyes took in the two-story building in front of them.  Blair was inside; alive.  
  
At that moment, Jim Ellison wanted his senses back more than anything else.  He wanted to be able to _hear_ Blair.  Hear that voice, breathe in that scent.  But all he could do was... imagine.  
  
They figured they were at least one hour ahead of the two vans Harris had planned to send up here, anticipating the desires of the other family members. With the same breath, all three people opened their doors and stepped out.  
  
The air was cool, the sun shining down through the tall evergreens.  Birds chittered over head, treetops swaying lightly in the breeze.  As the gravel crunched underfoot, Simon put his arm across Naomi's shoulders and Jim stepped to the other side and together, they walked up to the large wooden door.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm Keith Wilcox.  We have the passengers spread out upstairs.  Most are sleeping right now.  Doc Wilson has seen most of them.  If you'd like to wait in here, " he showed them into a small anteroom, "Mr.  Sandburg is in with Doc Wilson now and should be coming out that door in just a few minutes."  
  
Wilcox was like a large hurricane and, before Simon or Jim had been able to get out three words, they'd found themselves being ushered into the small waiting room.  At the ranger's last statement, Naomi whirled around.  
  
"He's with a doctor now?  Is he all right?  I thought no one was seriously hurt?"  
  
"Well, everyone had the typical bumps, bruises, cuts etc, from experiencing a rough landing and trekking through the Canadian wilderness for a day and a half, and the pilot was carried by the others, he suffered a broken leg in the landing.  But a short time before your arrival, the Doc noticed that Blair seemed to be favoring his left side so he grabbed him and hauled him into the room we set up for him."  
  
Everything seemed to catch up with the three all at once.  They sat down heavily; eyes glued to the door that the ranger indicated earlier.  The desire to Blair was almost overwhelming; and it was difficult to maintain patience, even though it wouldn't be much longer.  Simon spoke up, wanting the information, but also hoping to create a diversion.   
  
"Could you tell us exactly what happened, Ranger Wilcox?"  
  
*****  
  
"Maybe you'd like some coffee or something first?  We weren't really set up for this many guests, but the doc and his wife took care of that for us.  I have hot coffee going, tea, we have bottled water...."  
  
Jim gazed at his two companions, then smiled at Wilcox.  "I think all we really need is information."  
  
Keith nodded.  "Well, this is what we have.  The jet hit an air pocket, a severe one and the plane dropped dramatically.  The crew couldn't maintain air speed so the jet continued to lose altitude.  They skimmed the trees and the pilot searched for anywhere that looked halfway decent to put her down.  He found one, they went in, but it was rough and the left wing was sheared off.  The plane skidded to a stop on the edge of Loomis Gorge.  
  
"Mr.  Sandburg and two others recovered first and your son," he smiled warmly at Naomi, "realized that their position was precarious at best; so he got everyone moving and, with the crew, got everyone safely deplaned.  Twenty minutes later, the jet went over.  
  
"From that point on, it was a matter of survival in the wilderness, as you can imagine.  The crew felt that  when the plane dropped into the gorge, they couldn't count on the transmitter working.  Of course, they were well aware of the weather difficulties on each side of the Canadian border.  In fact, they'd been in the process of re-routing when they hit the air pocket.  
  
"Mr.  Sandburg remembered seeing our building from the air as they were going down, and he and Cheetham, the pilot, did some figuring.  The final consensus was that they had a better chance of survival if they started hiking back to us.  They created a litter for Cheetham and set out after rendering some needed first aid."    
  
He smiled at the threesome and added, "They figured two days--they made it in a day and a half.  
  
"Well, that's about it.  Now may--"  
  
He was interrupted as the door opposite opened and two men stepped into the room.  One of them, the shorter, wearing a dirty white Henley and torn blue jeans was clumsily tucking the shirt in as the taller, older man was saying, "...you hear me, young man?  I want your assurance that you _will_ see your own doctor when you get home, Blair.  You need x-rays to be safe.  I'm sure those ribs are just bruised, but so are your kidneys."  
  
"Sure, as soon as I get ho--back."  
  
The doctor put his arm around Blair's shoulders and shook his finger in his face.  "Why do I not--"  
  
"Blair?"  
  
Both men froze, then looked over at the group.  Blair's eyes fastened on his mother.  She stood, stepped around the ranger and stopped.  
  
"Blair," she said again.  
  
After waiting so long for this moment, Naomi found that she couldn't move. She simply stood there with tears streaming down her face as she looked at her son.  Blair was standing in front of her, his hair a wild mess, a few bandages here and there, long scratches evident on his arms, face and neck.  But he was alive, whole, solid.  Real.  
  
Then she _was_ moving and seconds later he was solidly in her grasp.  She could feel him breathing; her hands moved to touch his arms and back; careful of the cuts.   Then she cradled his face, her eyes searching, noting the fatigue, the dark circles, the fine lines around his eyes, the maturity.  
  
His face, clean but unshaven, looked so much older to her.  And his eyes, which normally revealed everything he was feeling, were closed off. She stared at them, trying to read what he was feeling and that's when she saw the emotion....  
  
He was surprised.  
  
Seeing that surprise broke her heart; because it wasn't the surprise that she was at the ranger station instead of the lodge or airport, but rather shock that she was there at all.  And dear god, he was shocked by her emotion.  Her tears stunned her son.  
  
He was frowning at her, puzzled and he watched her, his eyes following the tears as they tracked down her cheeks.  Slowly, amazed, he brought up one finger and brushed over the moisture, but then he dropped his arm and seemed to close up as he finally spoke.  
  
"Naomi?"  
  
She couldn't handle this.  He didn't know-- _truly_ didn't know--how much she loved him, how much she needed him or how she'd have slowly died at his death.  Any thought of love was... abstract to him.  "Sure she loves me, she's my mother, but she doesn't _love_ me."  
  
How could she tell him that wasn't true?  How could she explain what she didn't understand herself?  Naomi Sandburg did the only thing a mother knows how to do when her baby is hurting... she simply enfolded him in her embrace and held him.  
  
At first, he stiffened, his arms at his side, but as her tears and words penetrated, the same words spoken over and over again, "love you, love you, need you, love you, so sorry, so very sorry", he softened, relaxed into her arms, his own finally coming up, going around her waist, his head buried in her hair and a ragged, "Mom" came out.  
  
Her tears fell harder as she sobbed and they swayed.  
  
*****  
  
Jim watched as Naomi tried to reach her son.  His throat closed up and he found himself choking back a sob.  
  
He had to leave--go outside-- _now_.  He backed up and turned away, his hand on the door knob.  Moments later he was out the door, through the small entryway and outside.  
  
He ran down the steps, onto gravel, then grass; heading toward  a fence that separated the facility from the forest.  He jumped the fence with one hand; boosting him up and over, his only thought was that he didn't belong here.  He'd forfeited all his rights with just a few well-chosen words over the years.  
  
"Chief, I don't know if I'm ready to take that trip with you."  
  
"What is there to talk about?  We fucked, it was a mistake."  
  
Fuck.  
  
He'd had the brass ring and he'd thrown it away.  
  
*****  
  
When Blair opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Simon.  After his initial amazement, he found himself searching, almost unconsciously, for someone else...   
  
No Jim.  His sigh caught Naomi's attention so she pulled back to stare at him and found his attention fixed on Simon.  She turned, pulling Blair into her side.  
  
Simon's own eyes were full but that didn't stop him from noticing that Jim was gone and that Blair must think he hadn't come. "Blair, he's here," Simon said quietly.  
  
Blair didn't say anything, _couldn't_ say anything.  
  
"He must have needed to... needed to be alone."  Even Simon recognized how lame that sounded but Blair nodded in understanding.  Simon smiled a bit as he added, "I'll just go get him."  
  
"No, Simon, I'll go."  Blair turned back to his mother, silently asking permission.  She gave him a little push toward the door as her answer.  
  
*****  
  
He moved slowly and stiffly, favoring his side as he walked outside.  He stood for a moment, checked to his right, spotted Simon's car, but Jim wasn't inside.  He glanced to his left and spotted the footprints in fresh grass.  He followed.  
  
Thanks to the virgin grass and mud, it was fairly easy to follow Jim's path and, as Blair moved, he wondered what he could say to the man when he did find him.  Why the hell was he here?  
  
And maybe--just maybe, Blair would deck him.  
  
He moved into the forest, the peace and serenity a balm to his soul.  To his left, he heard crunching footsteps so he veered in that direction wondering again why in the hell he hadn't let Simon do this.  
  
What could they have to say?  What possible words could undo all their stupid errors or the last weeks before they parted?  Or the morning after that night...  
  
He stopped.  He should go back.  Let Simon bring him in.  Like he really needed more walking?  More survival?  More... emotions?  Shit.  
  
It had been so easy in the last weeks--shutting everything down, his mouth, his brain, his emotions.  But now this--this fucking fact that Jim Ellison was here.  God damn him.  Blair would have survived.  He _had_ been surviving.  Okay, he maybe hadn't been living, but he'd been surviving.  
  
 _Congratulations Blair Sandburg.  You're a fucking wonder, you are.  
_  
Shut the fuck up.  
  
A noise just ahead, a small patch of light and... Jim.  Blair sucked in his breath.  Bit down on his bottom lip.  
  
Jim Ellison was standing, one hand resting against a tree, his back to Blair.  His shoulders were shaking.  Blair watched, mesmerized, as one hand came up and swiped at his face and a sob escaped from Jim's throat.  
  
Shit, he was... crying.  Jim Ellison was crying.  
  
Blair took two steps toward the shaking man, twigs snapping underfoot.  Jim gave no indication of having heard.  Blair moved closer and whispered, "Jim."  
  
Nothing.  He moved ever closer until he was near enough to touch.  He tentatively reached out, briefly rested his hand on Jim's back and repeated, "Jim."  
  
Ellison whirled around, caught completely unaware.  His body moved back, hitting the tree in the process.  One hand rubbed at his face again, wiping tears away, eyes blinking in surprise.  
  
"Blair."  
  
"Yes, Blair.  You, Jim; me Blair.  That much hasn't changed."  He tried to keep the sarcasm out, but failed miserably.  
  
Jim's eyes darted around, much like a cornered animal contemplating escape.  Blair didn't miss it.  
  
"Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, Ellison."  
  
His eyes took in the man who'd been his best friend.  He acknowledged somewhere in the back of his brain that Jim was thinner.  Older.  His face worn and tired.  
  
The clear, pale blue eyes, normally so closed-off, were now naked in their emotion and it was that sheer nakedness that shocked Blair.  Nearly drove him to Jim; to take him into his arms.  But it didn't and he didn't.  He couldn't.  
  
"You're alive."  
  
"So it would seem."  
  
"Your mother called me.  From the airport.  Told me you were on the plane, asked me to come."  
  
Blair smirked.  "How kind of you to come, Ellison.  I'm sure she appreciated the support."  
  
Jim could _hear_ the anger in Blair's voice.  He'd done it again.  Said the wrong thing.  Crap.  
  
"I would have come if she'd never called.  I love you."  
  
Okay--that was unexpected.  _Throw me for a loop, will you, Ellison_?  
  
Yes.  
  
Only a foot or so separated them, each studying the other and Jim saw the flush start on Blair's neck.  It traveled up, spread over his entire face, even tingling the tops of his ears.  
  
"I've died before, Ellison.  You didn't love me then.  What great stroke of madness brought you to this conclusion now?" He snapped the words out, his eyes blazing.  
  
But Jim Ellison had no fight left in him.  He couldn't dance around the question, he couldn't even glance away--he wanted nothing more than for those arms to wrap around him as they had Naomi.  He wanted to feel Blair in his arms, feel the heartbeat, he wanted to close his eyes and he wanted everything to be alright again.  "I've loved you for over two years.  Maybe longer."  He saw Blair's hand form into a fist.  
  
"Go ahead, I deserve it."  
  
"Oh, man, I want to.  I want to so bad, it hurts."  
  
"I know."  It was all he could say.  
  
"You nearly destroyed me, man.  Do you understand that?  Standing before you is a very dysfunctional person."  
  
"Two dysfunctional people, Chief."  
  
Everything would have been all right if Jim hadn't said _Chief_.  Blair's anger was really getting a good hold, he was on a roll.  But then the big, macho detective had to go and say that word, in just that way, and it meant more to Blair than Jim's declaration of love.  
  
"God damn you to hell, Jim."  
  
"Been there, Chief.  Still there."  
  
 _You just had to say it again, didn't you?  You macho cotton ball.  
_  
The foot between them, which a moment before seemed like a football field, suddenly narrowed to a normal twelve inches.  Blair was able to reach out; his fingers latching on to Jim's shirt and pulled gently and Jim just kind of drifted into his arms.  
  
Blair brought one hand up and placed it on the back of Jim's head and pushed it down onto his shoulder.  For several minutes, the two men stood, sharing their emotions in the death grip they had on each other.  Neither spoke.  
  
It was Jim who broke the spell. He could feel the tremors of Blair's tired body.  Without letting go, he said, "We should get you back.  You're exhausted."  
  
Blair shook his head, his hand resting against Jim's cheek, his finger then running down the jaw line. "No.  I need to... I need to reconnect--to understand this, Jim."  
  
"I don't know if I can explain it, Blair.  Everything I was afraid of... happened.  So now, I'm not afraid of anything anymore.  Not of us, not of you.  I nearly ruined us, Chief."  
  
"Fear based.--"  
  
"Reactions, yeah Chief.  You nailed it."  
  
"I gave up, though.  I should have stayed; should have pounded some sense into you."  
  
"Why didn't you, Blair?  What drove you to leave when you did?"  
  
Blair's eyes flicked away, his head dropping down. "I saw you--with someone.  The final day at the academy, the Volvo broke down.  I was in the tow truck, stopped in traffic on Peterson Rd.  You and--"  
  
"Me and Pete Wilkins."  
  
"Whatever.  His hand... brushed your cheek and something snapped inside."  
  
"I...he and I... once about five years ago.  He wanted to pick up where we'd left off.  I didn't."  
  
"Well, good.  I mean, good."  
  
Jim chuckled, he couldn't help it.  After everything, Blair was glad that Jim hadn't done anything with some FBI agent.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"You."  
  
"Wrong thing to say, Ellison.  Heart-wrenching moment like this."  
  
Jim laughed outright.  
  
"You bastard."  But Blair was smiling, then laughing with him.  
  
Nervous tension leached out of them as the laughter freed them.  They had to hold onto each other to keep from falling over, their laughter was so intense.  Eventually, it dwindled down as they rubbed eyes, choked a bit and chuckled.  
  
"Oh, man that hurt."  Blair was still grinning but holding his side again.  
  
"Reader's Digest lies."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know, _Laughter is the best medicine_?"  
  
"Well, I _do_ feel better."  
  
"So do I, Chief, so do I."  
  
Their eyes met and something flared up.  Two sets of almost matching eyes dropped down in perfect sync to fasten hungrily on lips and they moved, heads going up or down as needed and lips touched, then ground in harder, pressing, hands moving, Blair's going up to grasp Jim's head and Jim's moving down to rest on Blair's waist, to pull him in harder.  
  
Tongues joined in and Blair sucked Jim's in, clung to it, tasted it, let it roam, his hips moving in counterpoint and he felt Jim lower himself slightly which brought their cocks into alignment and that started a whole new frenzy of activity.  
  
It wasn't the most romantic of couplings.  It wasn't the most erotic either.  And it certainly didn't have a great deal of finesse.  But what it did have was power, urgency, love and need.  
  
Their bodies bumped as cocks were ground together.  Elbows poked, hands were clumsy, heads constantly changing position, tongues fought for dominance, neither man giving an inch.  They bit, too hard, too clumsily, they cursed each other, prodded each other, urged each other on, moans of pleasure and pain driving them toward the end.  
  
When their climaxes came--they were swift and powerful.  
  
Both men slipped to the ground, on their knees, still holding on.  
  
After breathing returned to some semblance of normalcy, Blair breathed out, "holy shit."  
  
"Amen."  
  
"You're a mess Ellison."  
  
"So are you Sandburg.  And what's with this Ellison thing?"  
  
"What's with the Sandburg thing?"  
  
Jim buried his face in sweaty hair and grinned.  "Sandburg is less-- _intimate_ than Blair.  Every time I said your first name, I got a hard on."  
  
"You asshole."  
  
"Hey, I can't help it if your name turns me on."  
  
"No comment.  Especially since when you call me Chief, _I_ get a hard on."  
  
"Chief."  
  
"No way.  Chief is pooped and has expended all his bodily fluids."  
  
Jim let his lips drop a feather light kiss on Blair's temple.  "We need to get back."  
  
"Um."  
  
They stood, laughed as they got a glimpse of each other, of Jim's blue shirt hanging open, of their fly's undone, of the mess they'd made.  
  
"Got any suggestions for hiding this, Ellison?"  
  
"Car, luggage.  Coats.  Come on."  
  
They started back and as they moved through the forest, Jim reached for Blair's hand and it slipped in.  A large hawk sprang up from a low branch, squawking.  Both men jumped.  As they walked on, Blair suddenly pulled on Jim's hand.  
  
"You didn't hear me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Back there, you didn't hear me.  And you were as surprised by the hawk as I was."  
  
Jim stopped and faced Blair.  "They're gone, Blair.  They've been gone for weeks."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
*****  
  
"Jeesh, Ellison, I can't believe you."  His eyes were blazing anger again and Jim could only stand there and take it, wait for the Blairicane to dwindle down to a strong breeze.  
  
"How long was I gone before you killed them, uh?  You just couldn't wait, could you?  You never wanted them and haven't we had _this_ conversation before.  Crap, you really are an asshole."  
  
Stretching out his arms, palms facing up, Jim took a step toward Blair.  "Come on, Chief, it's not like that."  
  
"LIKE HELL IT ISN'T!"  
  
For the briefest moment something flickered in Blair's raging blue eyes but Jim didn't have time to identify it before Blair went on, turning away, arms waving in the air.  
  
"YOU KNOW, I DIDN'T _GIVE_ YOU THE FUCKING THINGS.  I DIDN'T INVENT THEM, I JUST CAME ALONG AND FUCKING KEPT YOU ALIVE!  MY LEAVING WAS JUST THE FUCKING EXCUSE YOU NEEDED, WASN'T IT?"  
  
Jim didn't think he'd ever heard Blair say fuck or fucking so many times before.  He couldn't help it, he grinned.  And just as quickly doused it with an immediate frown as Blair whirled around to attack him face to face.  
  
Only--there was no attack.  The Blairicane ended as quickly as it had begun.  And in its wake stood a tired, hurting, defeated man.  
  
"Fuck, I'm sorry.  you never did want them and it's your life, Ellison.  look, let's just get back, okay?"  
  
His voice was--apologetic, surrendering, exhausted.  
  
"Blair, it wasn't like last time.  I didn't _do_ anything.  No jungle, no killing the jaguar.  It was--gradual this time.  One sense at a time, until--I was normal."  
  
If his words penetrated, if they'd meant something to Blair, he gave no real sign, just nodded and started walking.  Jim hurried after him and in silence they finished their journey back to the station with a brief stop to _cover_ up.  
  
*****  
  
"No, Daryl, he looks fine."  
  
 _"Bet he's real tired, huh?"  
_  
"Yes, he's tired.  They all are."  
  
 _"When will you be coming home?  And can I talk to him?"_  
  
"I expect we'll be leaving shortly but right now, he's... out--with Jim.  How 'bout we call you from the road?"  
  
 _"Please Dad, I need to talk to Blair, okay?  And did you call the station?"_  
  
"Yes, _Mother_ Daryl, I called the station, didn't you hear the explosion?"  
  
Simon could hear his son's laughter and Joan asking in the background what was so funny.  He grinned, listening to his son tell his mother what was funny and then telling her that she had to be there...  
  
 _"Dad, give him a hug for me, will ya?"  
_  
"One hug, coming up.  Talk to you from the road, okay?"  
  
 _"Okay, and Dad?  I love you.  Bye."_  
  
"Bye, Son.  I love you too."  
  
He put the phone down, his hand still resting on the plastic, still grinning from ear to ear.  Life was good.  
  
"Everything all right at home, Simon?"  
  
He faced Naomi and nodded happily.  "Everything is fine now.  Daryl wants to hear Blair's voice, wants us to call from the road."  
  
"I've been thinking about that, Simon.  I don't think Blair should head back so soon.  The last thing he needs is eight to ten hours in a car and I doubt he's going to want to fly.  And does he go back to Cascade or Tacoma?"  
  
"I don't know, but I suspect you're right about a long car journey right now."  
  
Doctor Wilson harrumphed and spoke up.  "I might be able to help there.  My sister has a bed and breakfast only about five miles from here.  It's off season; shall I call her?"  
  
Naomi glanced at Simon, who shrugged.  "Why not?  I'm not enamored of getting back in that car and driving for the next half day either."  
  
"All right, let me make a quick call."  
  
*****  
  
They pulled up in front of a beautiful three-story Victorian home set back in the trees.  All four occupants of the car gasped.  
  
"Shit, this is beautiful."  
  
"And somehow," Naomi added to Simon's comment, " somehow it fits, doesn't it?"  
  
Doctor Wilson's sister had made it very clear that they would be more than welcome at her B&B.  Jim had immediately agreed with the plan and Blair had been too tired to object. As they got ready to leave the station, Naomi, Simon and Jim waited for Blair to say goodbye to the other passengers and crew.    
  
They'd watched, stunned, as Hollywood's biggest action star took Blair in his arms, tears in his eyes as he said his good-bye; the famous academy award winning character actor then doing the same.  And the crew, hugging and kissing him, exchanging numbers and addresses, and all of them, stars, production crew and flight crew holding him to some earlier made promise to _get together_ later.  
  
Before leaving, Blair had given his warm and emotional thanks to the ranger station crew and to Doctor Wilson.  As they'd pulled away from the station, the two vans sent by Harris, one full of family and friends of the other passengers, the other empty, pulled in, followed closely by a parade of media vans.  
  
Now they stared up at the B&B, stunned by its beauty.  The front door opened and a woman came out yelling a greeting.  
  
"COME IN, LET ME HELP YOU!  WELCOME TO ENSHALLAH!"  
  
Everyone immediately turned to Blair, who grinned.  
  
"Basically, 'God willing'."  
  
Three sets of "ah's" followed.  
  
Patsy Crawford was a petite woman in her fifties, full of energy and patter.  She immediately explained that her husband, Bob, was in town buying groceries, that there were three bedroom suites in her _little_ B &B, that they could divvy them up any way they chose and that they were all on the second floor.  She spoke fast as she ushered them inside, clucking over Blair, exclaiming how fortunate he was and that they could stay overnight or as long as they pleased.  
  
The first floor was composed of the living room, dining room, a large, comfortable study, the kitchen, a pantry and a laundry room.  The third floor housed their personal living quarters.  
  
"You can take the grand tour later, but I expect right now, all you want are showers and some sleep.  By the time you're rested, I'll have a lovely dinner ready.  Now, just follow me."  
  
They did.  Once upstairs, there was a moment of hesitation, of brief confusion, as they viewed the suites.  Then Jim guided Blair into the first bedroom and promptly followed him inside.  With a gentle smile thrown over his shoulder, the door shut quietly behind them.  
  
"Well, I guess that's that."  Naomi grinned up at Simon.  
  
"Um, yes, most definitely.  As Inspector Connor would say, _no worries mate_."  
  
They laughed together and followed Patsy to their respective rooms.  Their hostess seemed not in the least fazed by the fact that two men had just claimed one bedroom.  
  
*****  
  
Their room was huge.  Vaulted ceilings, several windows, a king-sized bed, a stone fireplace, a small sitting area with two large club chairs and one small couch.  A bookshelf stood against one wall, comfortably stuffed.  Blair looked around silently, taking in the beauty.  Jim put down his garment bag and pushed Blair gently towards the bathroom.  
  
Which was as spectacular as the bedroom.  It was decorated in soothing colors.  A large, old fashioned tub with claw feet dominated the room, and there was a dormer window overlooking the forest.  Again, Blair was stunned and speechless, which gave Jim the opportunity to turn on the tub water, then to carefully and lovingly strip Blair of his clothes.  
  
"Hey, what--"  
  
"Bath.  Warm--ease those muscles.  Got a complaint?"  
  
"Um, no.  Now that I think about it."  
  
Jim led him to the tub, helped him step in and watched as Blair's tired, bruised body slid into the warm water.  
  
"Okay, immediate suggestion, Ellison.  This tub, for your bathroom.  Ya gotta experience this."  
  
His voice was dreamy as he settled back and closed his eyes.  "Not one for baths generally, gotta tell you that, but this, this could most definitely change my mind."  
  
Jim grabbed up a large fluffy towel, folded it, got down on his knees beside the tub and gently lifted Blair's head and placed the _pillow_ behind him, then lowered the head back.  
  
"Okay, this is good."  
  
Jim crossed his legs and settled down, his arm resting on the edge of the tub.  
  
"You just gonna sit there?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Uncomfortable."  
  
"Not really.  And you're in no shape to be left alone.  You might just swirl down that drain."  
  
"Ha-ha."  
  
A few minutes later, Blair's voice floated up again.  
  
"You could... join me."  
  
One minute later, Jim was carefully lifting Blair and sliding down behind him.  
  
"All I was waiting for, Chief.  An invitation."  
  
"Next time, I'll send it engraved."  
  
Jim sat them both forward, let out some water, then added more hot.  After the tub was steaming again, he lifted a wash cloth, swished it with the soap from the corner and lifted Blair's right arm.  
  
"whoa, wait right there, Ellison.  you are _not_ washing me."  
  
"You have objections to being pampered?"  
  
"Yes.  I'm a big boy now.  Can do it myself."  
  
"I know that, but I _want_ to do it."  
  
He ran the washcloth over the arm, brushing lightly over the cuts, spent some time with the fingers, then moved to the other arm.  
  
"Got any problems with my style so far?"  
  
Blair Sandburg was asleep.  
  
Jim chuckled and finished what he'd started.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he roused Blair just enough to get them both out the tub, toweled off and with one big towel around each of them, back into the bedroom.  
  
He guided Blair to one of the club chairs then he pulled back the bedspread and the covers, pulled the drapes then got Blair under cover, mindful of his injuries, then slid in next to him.  
  
"Nice."  
  
"Go to sleep."  
  
"Mm."  
  
"Blair?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"You _are_ coming back to Cascade with me, aren't you?"  
  
When Blair didn't answer, Jim said, "Blair?"  
  
"I...," he seemed to stop, then, "yes."  
  
"To the loft?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"To... I meant upstairs?"  
  
"Why not us downstairs?"  
  
Jim snorted.  "Yeah, right.  It's not like that room was meant to be anything _but_ a storeroom, you know."  
  
"Okay... upstairs then."  
  
"Tacoma?"  
  
"Stayed with a friend.  Most of my stuff was on the plane."  
  
Jim was on his back, one arm itching to go under Sandburg, but so far, he'd kept his distance in the huge bed.  As Blair told him about staying with a friend, his body inched closer to Jim's.  Jim smiled.  
  
"All your stuff was downstairs in the basement, but before Simon picked me up--to join Naomi, I hauled it all back.  Everything is just the way it was."  
  
Blair rolled carefully onto his side and propped his head on his hand.  "You did that?"  
  
"Yeah.  I had to make certain that you'd come back--that you were alive.  Superstitious, uh?"  
  
Blair trailed one finger down Jim's arm, to the watch, traced around the band, then back up again.  "No, not superstitious.  Hopeful."  
  
"Not hopeful, Blair.  The emptiness inside of me--the black hole--I was certain that you were dead."  
  
"I'm sorry, Ellison, so sorry."  
  
"Yeah, well next time, think of something easier than crashing a plane, okay?"  
  
"You are so weird."  
  
Slowly, Blair let one arm rest across Jim's chest as he moved closer.  Jim's arm slid under Blair's body and pulled.  
  
They drifted off.  
  
*****  
  
At six that evening, Naomi and Simon made their way downstairs and joined Patsy and her husband Bob for dinner.  They weren't surprised by the absence of Jim or Blair.  
  
By nine, the foursome had cleaned up, talked a bit, enjoyed an after dinner brandy and Simon and Naomi discovered that the bill for their time spent at the B&B, no matter how lengthy or short, had been picked up by a certain famous actor.  His thanks to Blair Sandburg.  
  
They watched the news, courtesy of the Crawford's satellite dish and were very pleased to see the news give the credit to the pilot for the survival of the passengers of Flight 16.  No mention of Blair was made and that had been his wish.  Naomi and Simon were delighted that his fellow passengers had indeed kept their promises.  
  
The reunion of family had been heartwarming, the coverage almost--spiritual.  It wasn't often, if ever, that such an event ended as this one had.  At ten, with quiet good-nights, everyone went to their respective rooms.  
  
*****  
  
Ellison.  
  
Blair had been calling him Ellison since he'd found him in the forest.  Not Jim.  Not once.  
  
What the fuck did it mean.  
  
Jim gazed sleepily at the clock, the muted red digital numbers telling him it was after 10.  He turned his head and could see the signs of light peeking through the slit in the curtains and from downstairs, he could smell bacon cooking.  
  
Blair stirred and opened one bleary eye.  "You're still here," he mumbled.  
  
Jim shouldn't have been shocked by the words, but he was.  He scrutinized the face looking up at him and realized that there was no anger or bitterness or even irony in the words.  Only surprise.  
  
"Yes.  You didn't really think I'd be gone, did you?"  
  
"No," Blair's voice was stronger, a bit raspy, but already _waking up_.  "But I did think it was a dream.  I had a whole lot of those in the last months."  
  
"Dreams where we were together, then I disappeared on you?"  
  
"Mm.  And a few others.  You know, the revenge fantasies?"  
  
Jim frowned, his face all scrunched up as he said, "Revenge fantasies?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, the kind where I get to kick your butt, metaphorically?"  
  
"Like?"  
  
Blair settled his head more comfortably on Jim's chest and the older man could feel the grin as Blair said, "Well, there's this one where I'm walking down the street and I pass this bar and I'm thirsty so I go in.  It's a dark, seedy place and as the door opens, everyone yells, "SHUT THE DOOR!"."  
  
"Phil's."  
  
Jim could feel Blair's grin widen.  "Yeah, like Phil's.  Anyway, you're sitting on a barstool, three sheets to the wind, dressed all horribly, haven't bathed in a month of Sunday's, and I say, 'Ellison?' Well, you turn around and you can't focus but you know my voice and you reach out...," he paused, then said, "You probably don't want to hear this."  
  
"Like hell I don't.  Go on."  And he gave a tug to one hunk of hair currently tickling his face.  
  
"Well, you reach out and say, 'Blair' and then you say, 'Forgive me?  I love you, I can't get it up with anyone since you left, please, I'm begging you, come back.'"  
  
"And you say?"  
  
"Um, well, you _really_ don't want to know that."  
  
Jim laughed quietly and said, "Maybe you're right.  Okay, another one?"  
  
"Oh, this one was my favorite.  I'm this big movie star now, in Hollywood, rich, famous, the men and women lined up to be in my bed.  One rainy day--which just goes to show how fantasies really work.  No matter what I do, I can't get away from rain.  Anyway, I come out of the studio one rainy afternoon and you're on the corner and you're a hotdog vendor now.  I have to stop at the gate for a red light and you hold out a hotdog and say, "Blair, please, come back.  I'm useless without you and impotent too."  
  
"Jesus, do I sense a recurring theme here?"  
  
"Duh."  
  
"I'm sorry, Blair."  
  
"So am I.  We both made our fair share of humongous errors.  So, now, we start over."  
  
Lightning struck.  In the beginning, Blair had called him _Ellison_ quite frequently.  When had it become exclusively _Jim_?  What had done away with the _Ellison_?  
  
Trust.  A home.  Of course.  Blair didn't trust him.  Didn't trust his love.  Didn't, on some subconscious level, expect Jim to _be there_ every morning when he woke up.  But he was returning to Cascade anyway.  He was taking the risk.  Jesus.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted as Blair's hand slipped under the covers, closing around his dick.  Okay, he could think later.  
  
"Like that?"  
  
"Um... yes."  
  
The hand expertly stroked as Blair's lips planted small kisses across his chest.  Briefly, he lifted his head and said, "Definitely not impotent, Ellison."  
  
"Charging on all cylinders, Blair."  
  
Blair pulled himself on top of Jim, his hand leaving the throbbing, needy cock so that he could push himself up.  His hair trailed down around his face; the bearded stubble attracting Jim like nothing else.  As he lifted his head, Blair lowered his and latched onto Jim's lips.  
  
The kiss was slow and easy; wet and deep.  Each man moaned at the intense pleasure until Blair lowered himself and their penises made contact.  
  
The moans turned to guttural sounds and Blair began a slow thrusting as Jim's hands came up and clamped down on his hips; using his strength to control Blair's thrusts.  
  
Jim spread his legs and as Blair dipped in, he closed them against Blair's cock.  One set of hips began to move up, while the other thrust down.  They moved like this, slowly, carefully, milking it for all they had; their kisses becoming sporadic, their aim even worse.  
  
"Christ, Ellison."  
  
"Faster, come _on_ , faster."  
  
They both moved faster, driven by their impending climax.  Jim came first, followed moments later by Blair.  
  
*****  
  
"You'll always clean up, won't you?"  
  
Jim laughed as he plopped back down on the bed, wet washcloths and one large towel in hand.  
  
"You know it.  Messy business this making love."  
  
"I like the mess."  
  
"So do I.  Just not the mess an hour later."  
  
Blair shook his head and snickered.  "Now what are you doing?"  
  
Jim was done, the towel below them, protecting them from the wet spots, the washcloths in the bathroom.  He was currently pulling on Blair.  "I'm arranging."  Blair was neatly plopped down across Jim's body.  
  
"Jeesh.  You are one hell of a control freak."  
  
"There's a news flash.  And listen, if we're going to talk, I personally want to be comfortable and you, spread out on me, is comfortable.  Got it?"  
  
"Okay, okay.  And are we?"  
  
"Yes, we are.  Another news flash.  I actually know how to do this.  And after we're done, breakfast."  
  
"Who starts?"  
  
"Duh."  
  
*****  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Did you think that maybe I can't talk while stretched out on my new body pillow?" Blair punctuated his remark with a slight thrust of his pelvis.  Jim moaned and hissed out, "Move it, buddy, 'cause we _are_ talking."  
  
Laughing, Blair shifted himself over and off, pulled part of the sheet up and sat tailor style in the middle of the huge bed.  "Okay, let's start with your senses.  Do you want them back?"  
  
With a slightly feral gleam in his eye, Jim immediately reached for Blair, who simply swatted his hands away.  "Maybe you're not as ready to talk as you thought, eh?"  
  
Jim flopped back with a sigh, the light in his eyes replaced by a defeated sadness.  "Maybe not."  
  
"Well then, let me spit out my worry about your senses," he grinned ruefully and added, "Just to get the ball rolling, so to speak."  
  
"Okay.  Shoot."  
  
Blair's eyes skirted away from Jim, focusing on the wall instead.  "I think it's an odd coincidence that now that you don't have your senses, you can love me.  Okay?"  
  
Jim jerked up, words already shoving themselves up like a volcano about to disgorge its lava, but Blair waved his hand and said quickly, "I know, I know, you said you've loved me for awhile, and I believe you.  But you had your senses then and I think, that, maybe you believed you'd lose me if you weren't a sentinel."  
  
Blair met Jim's eyes with his own steadfast gaze; demanding this truth from Jim.  "You didn't believe I'd care about you if you were plain old Detective James Ellison.  You didn't _trust_ me to care."  
  
"Holy shit.  Tell me you don't really believe that?"  
  
"Yeah, Ellison, I do.  It's safe to love me now.  And that's okay; I understand.  You never wanted the sentinel thing so I can only guess at how relieved you are now.  And people don't have a great history with you."  He took breath and added, "But I gotta tell ya, Ellison, for everyone who betrayed you, there were two or three who didn't.  Danny Choi, Jack, Simon, your men, Earl, I could go on and on."  
  
"You."  
  
"Me."  
  
It was Jim's turn to give back a steadfast look.  "I want them back, Sandburg."  The words were simple and rang with sincerity.  
  
"You really want them back?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Jim sat up, scooted closer to Blair and said softly, "And Chief, we _both_ have trust issues and, right now, you don't trust me to be here.  To stay.  But I will.  Senses or no senses, you'll wake up every morning with me, if not physically lying next to you, then at least," he touched Blair's chest with finger, "here."  
  
Blair dropped his gaze down to the finger gently pressing the skin over his heart, then back up to Jim.  Words were useless.  All he could do was nod.  But then a quirky grin split his face.  "This is weird, both of us with trust problems and discussing them while we sit here naked as the day we were born."  
  
"Personally?  I like the view."  He dropped his hand and let it rest on Blair's thigh.  "I think we should make a new rule.  No serious discussions unless Blair Sandburg is naked."  
  
"No serious talks at the station then."  
  
"Right.  Good addendum to the rule."  
  
They were silent for a few minutes, enjoying the new plateau their new relationship had just reached.  But eventually, the scientist had to resurface.  
  
"Why do you think you lost your senses?"  
  
"I think, maybe it was because you were gone."  
  
"So no pressure?  You felt pressured by me?  Jesus, Ellison.  I never meant for--"  
  
"No, Blair.  That isn't what I mean.  Incacha said something, you know, before he...when we first spotted him?  Our discussion about my senses being gone?"  
  
"A sentinel will always be a sentinel if he chooses to be.  Yeah, I remember."  
  
"Well, that's not the--that's not all of it.  He said... a little more."  
  
The small vein in Blair's temple began a little tap dance as he compressed his lips.  He'd been slightly hunched over, but now he straightened his back and glared at Jim.  
  
"He.  Said.  A.  Little.  More?"  
  
Jim took a courage grasping breath.  "Yes."  
  
Blair's expression said, _'Go on, you asshole'_.  
  
"His words, I mean everything he really said, was... _a sentinel will always be a sentinel if he chooses to be and is guided_...".  
  
"Guided?"  
  
"Guided."  
  
"And you're just now telling me this?  You didn't think it was important before?" Blair was up and off the bed, making full use of the huge room, pacing back and forth and normally, Jim would have thoroughly enjoyed the view, but staying alive seemed more important.  
  
"Blair--"  
  
"Jesus, what else have you _not_ told me?  What other little sentinel tidbits have you decided to keep back?" His pacing sped up, hands waving in anger, his fingers punctuating every word.  "OKAY, I didn't tell you _one_ thing, just _once_ and okay, it was a pretty big _one thing_ , but fuck, I had my reasons, and they were legitimate reasons, damn good _fucking_ reasons, and I _did_ try to tell you, but this," his hand seemed to encompass the entire universe, "this is, this is _WAY_ beyond, way, way beyond anything...," he finished abruptly, his steam evaporating.  Unconsciously, he held his arm to his side, stopped where he was...and stayed, unmoving.  
  
Jim climbed out of bed and hastened to his side, coming up behind him, but leery of touching him.  "I couldn't tell you, Blair.  Not that.  Can't you see why?" When Blair didn't answer, didn't even turn to him, Jim went on, his voice almost pleading for understanding.  
  
"How do I tell _you_ , that without this guide thing, I'm not a sentinel?  How, when Incacha made it clear that _you_ were my guide.  How do I drop something like that on you?"  
  
Blair did face him then, looking up at him, hurt and confusion pouring off his body like a fever.  "I'm not following you, Ellison."  
  
"How could I tie you to me in that way?  You had a life."  Seeing the disbelief in Blair's face, he squared his shoulders and went on.  "Okay, look, you fall in love, you bring her over, can't you just hear yourself?" Then in a perfect imitation of Blair, he said, "Barbara, darling, this is my partner, Jim Ellison and have I mentioned that once we're married, you'll be moving in here with us?  And did I also mention that I spend approximately 16 hours a day glued to his side?  No?  Sorry."  
  
Blair's lips started to twitch and in a voice reminiscent of Fran Drescher, he said, "Oh, Ellison, this is Jim, my partner.  Have I mentioned that once we're married, we'll be moving upstairs and that for the next 50 years, It'll be 24/7?"  
  
Jim slid one arm around Blair's waist and brought him into his arms.  "24/7?  I can handle that.  For the sake of the partnership and all."  
  
"Nah, you'll be running, screaming into the night, after five days."  
  
Jim fingered some hair, his eyes glued to Blair's as he shook his head.  "Screaming, yes.  I'm counting on years of screaming and moaning."  
  
"And bitching, complaining and repressing."  
  
"And cleaning up after you.  Folding your clothes."  
  
"Making sure you don't eat too many Wonderburgers."  
  
"Sliding the tofu into the sink before you notice."  
  
"Dressing up the veggie burgers so that you never notice what you're eating and then having you tell me that you could eat them all week."  
  
"Making sure you never cut your hair."  
  
"Helping you comb yours forward to hide the receding hairline."  
  
"Finding your glasses-- _again_ , on top of your head."  
  
"Covering your ass when Simon starts spitting bullets."  
  
"Keeping all the ladies off of yours."  
  
Blair settled inside the warmth and safety of Jim's arms, wrapped his around Jim's body, offering the same warmth and security as he whispered, "I do."  
  
Jim lowered his head, let his lips hover over Blair's, then murmured, "Ditto."  
  
They kissed, each smiling into it, eyes opened, neither wanting to lose contact.  It was a kiss to seal a bargain.  Close a contract.  A lifetime guaranteed contract.  
  
When it ended, Blair led Jim back to the bed and they sat down on the edge, hands finding each other, fingers entwining.  
  
"So, _Guide_ , got any ideas about my senses?  You're here, we're together and still no sentinel."  
  
"Incacha was wrong?"  
  
Jim exaggerated a splutter and stuttered out, "WWro...ng?  Inca-cha wrr-ong?  Blasphemy!  That's like saying the great Shaman Sandburg is wrong!  Not possible."  
  
Blair snorted at that, but he also sat up straighter, a strange expression coming over his face.  
  
"You know, I just may have an idea.  If you're serious, and you really want to _be_ a sentinel again."  
  
Jim brought his hand up and cupped one side of Blair's beard roughened face.  "As a wise man once tried to tell me, it's who I am."  
  
Sandburg's face cleared and his eyes brightened as he favored Jim with a killer smile.  "Yeah, it is."  
  
"So?  Your idea?"  
  
"Right."  Blair started to stand, but Jim refused to let go.  Blair, with a grin at the clasped hands, surrendered and sat back down.  
  
"Okay, after we returned from Peru, you told me about that vision, that you committed to being a sentinel, right?" At Jim's nod, Blair continued.  
  
"And I committed that day at the fountain when I died.  Or, should I say, when I came back.  
  
"Blair?  You committed to this whole sentinel thing that day?"  
  
"Yes, the moment I decided to return to you.  But then I broke it when I left you.  I turned my back on it."  
  
"And I turned my back on it that day in the hospital, and later that morning, the morning..."  
  
Blair jumped in, not wanting either of them to have to relive that event.  "So, we both turned our backs on the commitments we made.  And I left and you lost your senses.  And I shall use great willpower to avoid saying the obvious."  
  
"Gee, I'm grateful, Chief.  So, how do we fix it?"  
  
"Obviously, we need to re-commit.  Together."  
  
"I should make our reservations for Peru?" Jim was only half joking.  
  
"I don't think that'll be necessary.  I think you just need to find your spirit guide."  
  
"You don't think I've tried that?"  
  
"Sure, but I wasn't there.  Hello?" He knocked on Jim's head for effect.  
  
"Ow and good point.  Okay, so we do the music again?  Find a rooftop somewhere?"  
  
"I think we've progressed a bit beyond that.  Why don't you just cl..."  
  
*****  
  
"...ose your eyes."  
  
Jim blinked down at Blair.  Who was fully clothed, in the same clothes he'd been wearing the morning he'd died.  
  
Jim glanced down at himself and found that he too was no longer naked, but wearing the same outfit as when he'd committed in Peru.  
  
And they weren't in Canada.  Or Washington.  
  
"Uh, Blair?"  
  
"Well, that was easier that I thought."  
  
"Blair?"  
  
Before Sandburg could answer, a yowl filled the jungle that surrounded them.  Both men turned to face the source.  
  
A large, black jaguar bounded out into the small clearing.  He sat down a few feet from the two men, tail swishing complacently.  
  
"That would be your spirit guide?"  
  
"You can see him?"  
  
The cat yawned.  
  
"Oh, yeah.  Mighty big teeth he has, too."  
  
A rustling in the undergrowth alerted them to another intruder and, moments later, a large wolf loped out and sat down beside the jaguar, resting its large canine head on the cat's back.  
  
"Yours?"  
  
"Looks like."  
  
"One big happy family."  
  
Blair couldn't help it, he giggled, albeit a nervous giggle.  Jim stared at him.  "You giggled."  
  
"Sorry.  So what now?"  
  
"You're asking me?"  
  
"You've been here, done this.  Doofus."  
  
Jim scratched his head and looked around.  Yep, it was the same place, the same cliff.  
  
"Okay, there should be this guy.  Or Incacha."  
  
"The Chopec warrior you told me about?  Didn't you say the cat morphed into him?"  
  
"Um, yeah."  He looked back at the two contented animals and shrugged.  "But neither one of them look as though they're going to change anytime soon."  
  
The wolf was now cleaning the cat who had started purring loudly.  
  
"No, they certainly don't.  And don't think for one minute that I'm ever going to do that to you."  
  
"Hey, I'd be willing to do it for you!"  
  
"Yeah, well.  So what happened when the warrior appeared?"  
  
"He told me I'd been brought back to renew my commitment, and that I would have to give up my life and my soul."  Jim turned them both toward the cliff and pointed, "Then that appeared and he said I needed to decide.  That I could go back and be normal, or I could go forward and give up my life and my soul.  If I jumped, I died."  
  
"And you decided."  
  
"To jump."  
  
"So... we jump again."  He glanced back at the animals and said, "They'd better not push us."  
  
"I think they're here for moral support and Blair, it's not like we haven't done this before."  
  
Blair smiled and nodded.  "Right.  Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  You know I hate that scene, don't you?"  
  
"Hey, it's not like we're really going anywhere, Chief."  
  
Blair peeked over the edge and gasped out, "There's water down there!  Why is there always water?"  
  
"To break your fall?"  
  
Smiling, Blair held out his hand.  
  
Sweaty palms connected and Jim breathed out, "I'm ready to take that trip with you, Chief.  How 'bout you?"  
  
"Since day one, Jim, since day one."  
  
They jumped.  
  
*****  
  
Epilogue: Two weeks later  
  
Summer in Cascade.  Just like spring, fall and winter.  Maybe a bit more sun.  
  
Major Crime was busting out all over; criminals losing the battle right and left.  The bullpen was a flurry of activity with only one quiet spot.  The desks of Ellison and Sandburg.  
  
The two men in question were currently watching Captain Simon Banks' door as Detective James Ellison counted down from ten.  
  
Their return from Canada two weeks earlier had been celebrated in Major Crime style, their joy at the return of their newest detective hidden by ribald joking, hair pulling and the basic antics of teenagers.  
  
Daryl had arranged a huge _Welcome back, Hairboy_ party and three days later, Blair had been quietly sworn in and after a short _vacation_ , he'd walked into Major Crime as Jim Ellison's permanent and official partner.  
  
Change had been inevitable.  Moving Blair's stuff upstairs.  Turning the downstairs spare room into an office.  Naomi and Simon dating.  The predicted jokes.  Daryl and Blair leading most of them.  
  
But now life had settled.  Well, except for today.  
  
"5...4...3...2...1."  
  
"ELLISON! SANDBURG!  MY OFFICE-- _NOW_!"  
  
The two men stood.  
  
"Man, you are getting _good_ at this."  
  
"Damn right.  Now move.  Remember?  Cover my ass when Simon's spitting bullets?"  
  
Blair stepped behind his partner and snorted.  " _This_ is covering your ass, Jim."  
  
They reached the Captain's office and stepped in.  Simon was standing, eyes narrowed, palms planted securely on his desk.  As the two men stepped up to his desk, he tossed a folder at them.  
  
"Care to explain this, _Detective_ Sandburg?"  
  
"Our report on the Ojilla hit?  Sir, we got him cold."  
  
"Blair's right, Sir.  I heard the man confess."  
  
Simon snorted.  "So I'm supposed to tell the DA that Cummings confessed to offing Ojilla and that my detective heard him from inside his truck, three blocks away?" He picked up the folder and huffed, "Bring me some _real_ evidence, gentlemen.  Yesterday."  
  
The two men walked back out.  
  
"You just had to do that, didn't you?"  
  
"Hey, it's not like the report was a lie or anything.  And Jim, you know you love yanking his chain."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Sandburg."  
  
Blair whirled back around to see Simon standing in his door.  He walked back, darting a puzzled look at his partner.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I believe this belongs to you?"  
  
Blair glanced down at the object in Simon's hand.  It was a five dollar bill.  "Sir, I don't understand."  
  
"From Daryl.  I've had it awhile."  
  
Smiling, Sandburg took the bill.  
  
~~END IN MEMORY~~

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL CAVEAT: This IS NOT A DEATH STORY! In thinking of the wonderful list sibs we've lost in the last months, I came to realize that we must celebrate our friends in life, and not wait until death. No one dies in this story. It's about life, mistakes, redemption. Enjoy with a clear heart and no worries mates! :)) You know I would never kill either of my guys.


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